


Scandalous Liasons

by drabbleswabbles



Series: Love and Liasons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 88,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleswabbles/pseuds/drabbleswabbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian suspects the Herald of Andraste's flirting is a technique to get him tripped up into admitting that he's an evil magister. Daylen thinks that meetings about fashion make a good excuse to avoid war table meetings. Eventually, they both wonder if it's not more.  </p><p>A fic exploring the relationship between Dorian and the Inquisitor and some of the friendships that form. I'm assuming a familiarity with the events of Inquisition and thus the fic has minimal focus on the fight against Corypheus. Both canon and non-canon events. Can be read as a stand alone from the in progress prequel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Dorian Cleans

            The arrival to Skyhold had felt miraculous, but all things considered the place was a bit of a shithole. The potential existed of course, but in the meantime it left a lot to be desired. Dorian looked around the tiny room he'd been assigned. By the lack of decaying furniture, a fireplace, or even a window he guessed that it had once been used as a storage room. Impressive cobwebs covered a good portion of the walls. Still he supposed he should be grateful to have a roof over his head and finally a room of his own. In fact, he was grateful that he'd even been allowed to stay with the Inquisition. Being of Tevinter origin didn't endear him to anyone. And considering recent events involving his mentor destroying the entire world in an alternate timeline, it was a wonder he hadn't been tossed out into the knee-deep snow.

            "I'll be damned Sparkler. Whose toes did you step on?"

            Dorian took great pride in the fact that he didn't jump. The dwarf always seemed to appear out of thin air. He turned to face Varric and raised an eyebrow.

            "This isn't a room. It's a broom closet."

            "For a writer you have a startling lack of imagination. It just needs a bit redecorating," Dorian said. He wouldn't be caught complaining about his quarters. There was no need to add to his reputation as a spoiled noble. On reflection, perhaps he did overindulge in complaining about the insufferable cold and simply deplorable cuisine.

            Varric grinned. “Lucky for me, I'm surrounded by so much promising material. There's hardly a need for me to imagine a thing."

            Dorian had to acknowledge the dwarf had a point. "Is that why you're here? Are you struggling to do my looks justice on the written page?"

            "Not at all," Varric said. "I wanted to see if you needed any help settling in."

            "I'll manage.” Dorian hoped he was telling the truth.

            Varric gave him a skeptical look, but didn't press the issue. "Well, maybe when you're done using your imagination you'll join our merry group at the tavern. We'll be playing Wicked Grace. Winner gets an Antivan rug."

            Dorian sighed. "Antivan rugs are completely overrated."

            "Now, now, Sparkler. Foolish statements like that lead to living in broom closets. What would our dear Josephine think?" Varric said before walking away.

            Dorian took another look at his room. With a couple of carefully directed spells he destroyed the cobwebs and blew most of the dust and grime out into the hallway. Dorian Pavus reduced to using his magic for cleaning. The horror. In the end he still had to find a bucket and rag with which he scrubbed the floor like a house slave. Perhaps it was divine retribution for many a fantasy featuring sweating on his hands and knees until his muscles ached.

            When he'd cleaned himself up he briefly considered following Varric to the tavern. The drinks would be awful and he really didn't care for Antivan rugs. Not to mention the crowd of drunken Fereldens without much of a fondness for Tevinter mages. Instead he made his way to the library.  It was in a state of criminal disorder and he still had hours of work ahead of him if he wanted to turn it into a place of any use for research.

            When the Inquisitor showed up Dorian was flipping through a fascinating, if outdated, tome on magical theory. Unlike Varric the man had the heavy tread of a solider unconcerned with the element of surprise. Of course, he also had the rather distracting physique of someone who spent a lot of time swinging a sword around.

            "Dorian, I've been searching all of Skyhold for you," Daylen said.

            "Oh the scandal. The blessed Herald of Andraste seeking out the Tevinter Magister in the middle of the night. What will people say?" Dorian quipped.

            "They'll say he couldn't find his way around his own fortress. This place is a damn maze. Yesterday, I spent a good half hour trying to find a way up to Vivienne's nook," Daylen admitted.

            "Don't worry I'm sure they'll remove all mention of such flaws in the books they'll write about you, Lord Inquisitor." Dorian put aside his book to give the Inquisitor his full attention. He very much doubted the man would be searching for him at this hour if he didn't have an important matter to discuss.

            Daylen scowled. "Please Dorian, we've been stranded in time together. I think we can drop the titles. Or should I go about calling you Lord Pavus?"

            "My dear man, I am but a handsome pariah at your beck and call."

            "Modesty and looks in one," Daylen said with smile. “It’s my lucky night.”

            It no longer startled Dorian when Daylen flirted with him. When he'd first met the Herald it had been some time since he'd had the opportunity to engage in a bit of banter. He'd assumed it was simply a matter of his imagination getting away from him. It had happened to him on occasion when he'd been younger and less experienced in the way of things. But there was no mistaking it. He'd been shocked and delighted upon coming to the conclusion that the Blessed Herald of Andraste was in fact flirting with him. Of course, soon after he'd discovered that the man flirted with everyone. He half suspected it to be a deliberate strategy to fluster anyone he conversed with.

            "I'm so glad you've noticed a few of my many fine qualities," Dorian said.

            "Oh I've noticed. It only takes a pair of eyes." Daylen said.

            "How lucky you have a rather fetching pair." Two could play at this game.

            "Flatterer." Daylen looked around the nook and ran a finger along the spines of a couple of books. "Thank you for taking care of the library. It would be a shame if these books went unappreciated."

            It surprised Dorian to be thanked for it. Cleaning up the library was the least he could do to help out. He'd always loved being surrounded by books and it gave him something to do other than pondering the implications of an ancient magister running about planning to destroy the world.

            "So, what was this news you so urgently needed to discuss?"

            Daylen sighed and leaned against the window ledge. "Have you spoken to Alexius?"

            "No." What an awful topic to transition to. He'd been meaning to go see him, but what was there to say? The man had once literally pulled him out of a brothel and convinced him to put his attention to studies that could one day improve their homeland. Then he'd gone and confirmed every ugly stereotype that existed about Tevinter.

            "His judgement is set for tomorrow," Daylen said.

            "Ah." Was the man telling him that he should see Alexius while he had the chance?

            "We had a council meeting about it. But I was wondering if you had anything to contribute."

            "Surely that's why you have a council. What does my opinion matter?"

            "You're the only one who actually knows the man. I thought you might have some insight," Daylen said. He looked pale and there were still dark circles under his eyes. The man hadn't even recovered from being crushed by an avalanche before the Inquisitor's sword was shoved in his hand. It was a miracle he was standing at all.

            Dorian let his eyes stray to the piles of books that still needed sorting. "Alexius was my mentor. He stood for everything I admired. I'm not sure I know the man you're going to judge."

            "Some have suggested he be made Tranquil."

            Dorian winced. After what Alexius had done he didn't think he could ask for mercy. The punishment wasn't a surprise. It was common enough in the Circles here and the Inquisitor had been raised in a land that until recent developments had kept its mages caged. It was only to be expected that it would be the preferred solution.

            "You know best I'm sure," Dorian said.

            "It's a barbaric practice," Daylen said. "I refuse to stoop to using such a tactic."

            Dorian looked at the Inquisitor in surprise. "That's not what I'd expect from someone of your background."

            "And what background would that be?"

            "It's not exactly a secret that you were supposed to join the Templars."

            With a faraway look Daylen shrugged. "It's more of a secret I once had a cousin who was a mage. She didn't survive her Harrowing." He rubbed at his face as if scrubbing away the thought then smiled. "And I was always more interested in swinging a sword than taking vows."

            An awkward silence as Dorian took a moment to ponder that image.

            Daylen broke it. "I'll leave you to your books. After the judgement I'll be heading back to the Hinderlands. There's reports of red lyrium in the area. I need to take care of it before it starts spreading."

            "Will you need any help?"

            Daylen stood up. "I've already asked Solas. There's something about the Fade that he wants to investigate in the same area. But next time."

            Dorian did enjoy watching him walk away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fic so bear with me. I proofread my own work and do my best to catch things. But if you spot any typos or other issues that drive you bonkers let me know and I'll make the corrections.


	2. In Which Daylen Shares His Perks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will mostly be switching between Dorian's and Daylen's point of view, but the pattern may break on occasion.

              Daylen breathed out in relief when they reached the gates of Skyhold. It had been raining almost nonstop since they'd left. This was the first bit of sunshine he’d seen in days. The normally pleasant rolling green fields and hills of the Hinterlands had transformed into muck. That had made scrambling around in search of red lyrium a miserable experience. It was strange that already Skyhold felt like home. Even with all of the work that needed doing to restore the fortress, it was a better location for the Inquisition than Haven could ever have been. The place would keep his people safe in the event of an attack. It made for one less thing on a long list of things to worry about.

            As they rode into Skyhold a crowd of workers arrived to assist them. Daylen dismounted and handed the reigns over to an elven woman who worked in the stables. He rubbed the back of his neck and found himself looking at Dorian in a conversation with Harritt. The blacksmith wore his usual sour expression. He said something, then spat at Dorian.

            _Maker help me._ Few things infuriated Daylen as much as the divisions he had to contend with on an almost daily basis. Fereldens, Orlesians, Tevinters, elves, humans, mages, templars, and the qunari, all at each other’s throats. And in the meantime the world was literally being ripped apart. He wished he could stamp his foot and make everyone behave. Since that strategy had little chance of succeeding, he took a breath and made his way toward the two men.

            "Harritt. Nice to see you out and about."

            The man grunted in response.

            Daylen had to admit he had a grudging respect for the blacksmith's determination to stay in a foul mood no matter the circumstances. "I never did get the chance to tell you how much I appreciate your dedication. I'm convinced if Dorian and I hadn't shown up to pull you from the flames you would have fought off the dragon singlehandedly to protect our supplies."

            Before Harritt could respond Daylen clapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder. It startled him when instead of cloth his hand met the mage's bare skin. _Maker._ He'd forgotten about the strange cut out robes. "Dorian," he said withdrawing his hand. "If you have a moment, I need your expertise on an urgent matter."

            Dorian gave him an amused look. "Your wish is my command, Inquisitor."

            With difficulty he refrained from rolling his eyes. "Come along then."

            In truth, he had nothing he needed to discuss with Dorian, but since he'd already invented the diversion he intended to take full advantage of it. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that the best way to avoid being accosted by Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana the minute he returned was to have pressing Inquisition business already waiting for him. Preferably business that allowed him to eat something in peace.

            With Dorian in tow he made his excuses and led the way to the kitchens. There he proceeded to load a tray full of freshly made food. It was just before dinner and the kitchen was bustling with activity, leaving the small room where the staff ate empty. He indicated that Dorian should sit across from him.

            "So," Dorian said. "Does this urgent matter involve your imminent starvation?"

            Daylen chuckled as he ripped off a piece of his roll and dunked it into his stew. "No, but I was hoping that my return wouldn't be overshadowed by a courtyard brawl."

            "Ah that," Dorian said. "My apologies."

            "You don't have to apologize," Daylen said. "In fact, it wouldn't hurt if you stood up a little more for yourself. You've as much right to be here as anyone. More than most even."

            "Flatterer."

            Daylen smiled recalling that the last time they'd spoken he'd accused Dorian of the same thing. "I'm only getting started."

            "Is that so?"

            "Oh yes," Daylen pointed to Dorian's bare shoulder with his spoon. "You've a fascinating sense of fashion. Tell me, is that meant to distract your opponents?"

            "It only distracts barbarians who've no understanding of fashion."

            Daylen took another bite of his food and realized he'd forgotten to share anything in front of him. "Well this barbarian would like to make up for his rudeness." He shoved his dessert toward Dorian. "Help yourself. The jam tart here is the best I've ever had."

            Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Based on the meals I've been eating I didn't think there was a pinch of sugar in all of Skyhold."

            "Perks of being Inquisitor. If I'd known that the only thing I needed to have unlimited dessert was a glowing hand I'd have gotten this mark years ago."

            The conversation continued in a similar manner until the food was finished and the hum of activity in the kitchen had eased somewhat. Daylen stood up to wipe crumbs from the table and looked up to find Dorian wearing a serious expression. He raised an eyebrow.

            "Your judgement of Alexius. It was surprising. I... I'm glad he may have the chance help undo some of the harm he's caused."

            "Despair drives men to all kinds of acts." Despite everything that had happened, a part of him pitied Alexius. As a young man he'd seen people suffering from the blight. He couldn't think of a crueler illness. "Besides, I'm forced to kill enough as it is."

            Dorian acknowledged this with a nod. "You should get back to your advisors. I assume you have an excuse lined up for sequestering yourself with the evil Tevinter?"

            "Of course. It's no secret I'm in desperate need of fashion advice."

            “We couldn’t possibly cover all of your transgressions in that department in the amount of time we’ve been here.”

            “Well then, we’ll have to schedule another meeting.”

 


	3. In Which Dorian Can't Sleep

            Dorian admired the new chair that had been placed in the library. The rickety wooden one he'd been forced to use before had been an instrument of torture. At last, he could sit down and enjoy a book without his back protesting. Now if Leliana's ravens would only stop making a racket at all hours. He couldn't understand why the library had been built beneath the rookery. At least he didn't have to sleep in the tower the way Solas did. Perhaps he'd started on that mural to distract himself from the noise.

            "Looks comfortable."

            "It's exquisite. And before you ask, no. I won't return it to you if you win at chess this time." It had been an easy win. Due to the Herald's deplorable chess skills Dorian hadn't even needed to cheat.

            Daylen smiled. "I'm not here for the chair. I've got a letter you need to see."

            During his time at Skyhold Dorian only received the occasional letter from Felix and one of Leliana's people had always delivered those to him. So the letter couldn't be addressed to him. "Really? Is it a naughty letter? Perhaps from some Antivan dowager?"

            "Not exactly," Daylen said. "It's from your father. He's been in contact with Mother Giselle."

            Dorian felt his stomach drop. Did his father really intent to sabotage this part of his life as well? He tried to read the Herald’s expression for any clues as to what might be in the letter, but found nothing. "Let me see it."

            He read through it twice before crumpling it in fury. It defied the imagination. Suddenly his father claimed to have concerns for his safety. "I know my son. What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble. This is so typical. I'm willing to bet this 'retainer' is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

            Daylen's eyes widened in surprise. "They seem genuinely concerned. I can't say I blame them considering everything that happened in Haven and what's still ahead of us."

            "You're remarkably trusting for a man who's killed so many people."

            The Inquisitor winced. "It just seems like your parents are reaching out to you."

            "Yes. To choke me." Couldn't the man let a thing go?

            "I think you should at least meet with this retainer and find out what your family wants."

            "I didn't ask what you thought. Did I?" Dorian turned to face the window and took a breath. Here he was lashing out at the only person who seemed to genuinely want him with the Inquisition. He turned back around. "That...was unworthy. I apologize."

            The expression on the Inquisitor's face softened. "There seems to be bad blood between you and your family."

            Dorian couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped him. If only the man knew. "Interesting turn of phrase. Let's just say they don't care for my choices, nor I for theirs."           

            "Is this because you left?" Daylen asked.

            "That too." Dorian wouldn't delve into details. He had no intention of risking Daylen's respect or their tentative friendship by divulging this little family drama. "But you're right. There'd be no harm in hearing what this man of my father's has to say. Let's go meet this retainer. But if I don't like what he has to say I want to leave."

            "That's fair enough," Daylen said. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to pry. But you don't have to worry about being taken anywhere against your will. We'll need to bring a couple of people along, just in case it turns out to be some sort of trap. Any preferences for who should join us?"

            "Anyone but Cole." It wasn't that he disliked the spirit. But he didn't think he'd survive the trip to Redcliffe if he had to spend every moment guarding his thoughts to avoid him recounting some awful memory to everyone’s curiosity.

            Daylen nodded.  "As you wish. Try to get some rest. We'll set out first thing tomorrow."

            It occurred to Dorian that he'd done nothing to deserve the luck of an Inquisitor willing to personally take him on such a trip. If this meeting didn't end up with him back on a ship to Tevinter he'd never ask him for another thing. As it was he'd asked for a humiliating amount of favors from anyone and everyone in the past few years.

            He abandoned thoughts of trying to read anything and headed back to his room. He'd stashed some alcohol away for emergencies and if ever there had been an emergency, this was it. Once he'd poured himself a generous helping of the swill the southerners called whiskey, he took to pacing. Surely the meeting wouldn't be so bad. His father wouldn't trust a retainer with personal information that would acknowledge the truth of things. Not that the rumors about him hadn’t been confirmed by his dramatic exit from Tevinter. He'd meet the retainer. Tell him to shove it. Then they could return to Skyhold and never speak of this again.

            By morning Dorian had barely slept and could feel the beginnings of a hangover. Resigned to what would be a miserable trip regardless, he gathered his things and headed toward the stables. Daylen was already there chatting about something with Varric and Blackwall. He silently thanked the Inquisitor for picking them. Despite his prodding Varric knew when to leave something alone. He wasn’t on the best of terms with Blackwall, but the warden spent most of his time brooding in silence and seemed to have no interest in gossip.

            They traveled briskly, for once making no stops to gather herbs or help needy refugees. Which gave Dorian plenty of time to feel ill and consider all sorts of scenarios involving his father whisking him back to Tevinter. By this time next week he might be married off to some dull woman. Or perhaps he'd be drooling on himself in some room at the Pavus estate.

            They didn't make camp until it was nearly dark. Dorian pushed around the food on his plate as Varric and Daylen swapped tales about memorable card game winnings. Blackwall whittled away at a piece of wood for some time before heading into his tent.

            "You look like nug shit, Sparkler. Go get some sleep."

            "I'm fine." Despite his exhaustion Dorian doubted he'd be able to sleep a wink tonight.

            Varric sighed and headed to the tent. "And I'm a qunari. Going to sleep, Inquisitor?"

            Dayled raised the mug in his hands. "Haven't finished my tea yet."

            When the noise of Varric settling in had quieted Daylen pulled another mug from his pack and poured some of the fragrant herbal tea Dorian didn't recognize.

            "Here," Daylen said holding the mug out to him. "It's chamomile and peppermint. My sister swears by it."

            Dorian accepted it with a nod of thanks. He took a sip and was surprised to find it had a pleasant flavor. For the most part he wasn't fond of tea. When he finished it Daylen poured him another cup. The light of the campfire grew fuzzy. He leaned back against the ancient wall behind him and let his eyes close for a moment. When he opened them again the sky had taken on the pale peach hue of dawn and someone had thrown a blanket over him.  

 


	4. In Which Daylen Discovers He's a Terrible Person

           The last time Daylen had walked into the Gull and Lantern he'd ended up meeting Alexius. With every fiber of his being he hoped this visit would end better. Bracing himself for whatever might be inside he followed Dorian. As it turned out, there was no one inside to meet. The place was deserted.

            "Uh-oh. Nobody's here. This doesn't bode well," Dorian said.

            Daylen didn't think he'd ever seen the mage look so anxious. It was unnerving considering how collected he seemed at all other times. A movement from the corner of the room caught his attention and he turned to watch a man descend from a staircase to the side. He wore rather strange robes. Also, a resemblance to Dorian.

            "Dorian.”

            "Father."

            Maker help him. They'd barely made it inside and already things weren't going according to plan. Ambushes didn’t make for good starts to family reunions.

            "So the whole story about a retainer was just...what? A smoke screen?" Dorian continued, his voice taking on a tone of utter resignation.

            Halward turned to face him. "I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved."

            Dorian turned to look at him as if daring him to accept the apology. Daylen settled for giving Halward the tiniest of nods in acknowledgement of having heard him. He supposed that was a start.  

            "Of course not," Dorian said turning back on his father. "Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?"

            Daylen wondered at the meaning of that. It was no secret that he wasn't popular in Tevinter. Not to mention that from a practical perspective it might have been difficult for a magister to acquire the permission to visit Skyhold personally. With the exception of Dorian, Tevinters didn’t exactly receive invitations. And even after Dorian had literally saved the world by whisking them back in time so they could have a chance to stop Corypheus, half of the Inquisition’s inner circle had suspicions about his motivations.

            "What is this exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?" Dorian's tone grew more acidic with each word.

            Halward sighed and looked at him again. "This is how it has always been."

            It made Daylen distinctly uncomfortable that the magister thought to find an immediate ally in him. He had no idea what had happened between the father and son, but whatever it was had unnerved Dorian more than finding himself thrown forward into a nightmarish future. "You tricked him into a meeting with you. Dorian has every right to be angry."

            "You don't know the half of it! But maybe you should-"

            "Dorian," Halward cut him off. "There's no need to-"

            "I prefer the company of men," Dorian continued past the interruption. "My father disapproves."

            His mind reeling from the sudden change of topic Daylen found himself stupidly repeating. "The company of men?"

            Dorian scowled. "Did I stutter? Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you've heard of it."

            Here he was in the midst of what was clearly a painful conversation, and yet Daylen found himself holding back a smile. He'd had his suspicions of course, but like himself Dorian seemed to flirt with everyone. Perhaps all of that flirting hasn't been entirely innocent? He pushed the thought from his head. "Yes. Of course, I've heard of it."

            "Good. I'd hate to have to draw a diagram."

            Halward's face furrowed. "This display is uncalled for."

            The pieces came together in Daylen's head. In the south relationships between people of the same gender didn't draw all that much attention. On occasion it arose as an issue for noble families or other prominent members of society concerned with the family lineage. Daylen's family had never been anything other than accepting. But of course, he'd heard that things weren't the same in other places. That would explain the anger between the two.

            "No it _is_ called for. You called for it by luring me here."

            "This is not what I wanted."

            "I'm never what you wanted, Father. Or had you forgotten."

            Daylen cleared his throat. "This is a big concern in Tevinter?

            "Only if you're trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader."

            _Well it's certain working._ Daylen kicked himself mentally for the thought and directed his attention back to Dorian.

            "It means every perceived flaw- every aberration-is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden," Dorian said taking a few steps back from his father.

            Halward dropped his head. Surely the man had come to his senses and intended to make amends. What other reason could there be for this meeting? "Your father's reaching out," he whispered. "Give him a chance."

            "Let's just go."

            "Dorian please if you'll only listen to me," Halward said.

            "Why? So you can spout more convenient lies? _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. The resort of the weak mind. Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to _change_ me!"

            A wave of nausea swept over Daylen. All of a sudden he wasn't sure if this whole thing hadn't been a tragic mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have pushed Dorian to come out here after all. To attempt a blood magic ritual for any reason, took family disagreement to a whole new level.

            "I only wanted what was best for you!"

            "You wanted the best for _you_! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!" Dorian reeled away to lean against a table and dropped his head as if the weight of the conversation had physically fallen on him all at once.

            Daylen hesitated a moment before walking to his side. What was there to say in this sort of situation? Nothing seemed adequate in the face of this revelation. Maybe the best thing would be to leave. But it wasn’t his choice to make, it was Dorian’s. He leaned on the table next to him so that he could speak to him alone. It was strange to see the man’s face in profile with Halward’s face hoovering in the background. Two men so similar, and yet, so different.

            "Say the word and we'll go,” he whispered. “But maybe you shouldn't leave it like this."

            Dorian looked at him for a long moment, his face an unreadable scramble of emotion then turned back to his father. "Tell me why you came."

            "If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition..."

            _Sweet Maker._ He didn't think he'd ever seen a supposed apology go quite so wrong. Did the magister think to win points by criticizing?

            "You didn't. I joined the Inquisition because it's the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that." With that he turned away and made for the door.

            "Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed," Halward said, halting Dorian's exit. "I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me."

            And this was his cue to stop encroaching on what was clearly meant to be a private moment. However terrible this apology had been it was clear Halward didn’t intent to knock Dorian over the head and kidnap him. This time it was Daylen who made his way toward the door. "I'll be right outside if you need me," he whispered.

            He closed the door behind him and leaned against the tavern wall. Daylen wondered how he would feel if Dorian had witness one of his family's spats. He didn't think he'd be particularly pleased. And at worst family arguments at his home had ended in his sister throwing a plate or mug. Maybe a bit of stone cold silence from his mother. Still he couldn't have risked letting Dorian go in alone in case the whole thing had been some sort of ambush or kidnapping. And perhaps some good would come of this whole thing. It was nice to understand more about Dorian. The mage was so guarded. He groaned. Here he was once again thinking of benefits for himself. It was official. The Herald of Andraste was a terrible person.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter with such a heavy dose of game dialogue.


	5. In Which Daylen Finds the Way of the Templar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a break in the point of view pattern.

             Just as Daylen was wondering if he should step back inside to make sure everything was fine, Dorian emerged with reddened eyes and a blank expression.

            "Are you alright?" he asked.

            Dorian looked toward the chantry building. "Not really. No. Let's just go."

            "Of course," Daylen said. "I told Varric and Blackwall to see what wares the merchants had on offer by the dock. We can gather them and go."

            "I'll wait by the road," Dorian said and walked away without so much as a glance back.

            Daylen made his way toward the dock. Blackwall was examining a carving knife while Varric haggled with the merchant. He was about to call them over when he noticed the book stall. Maybe he could find something here to distract Dorian on their return trip. The mage was always complaining about the inadequacy of the library. He walked over and scanned the carefully laid out tomes. He considered a volume on magic, but quickly dismissed the idea. Despite his recent acquisition of a glowing hand he didn't know the first thing about magic. He’d probably end up buying something that would be insulting to a mage of Dorian’s skill.

            Then he noticed a familiar cover featuring a flaming sword on its cover. It was a ragged edition of _The Way of the Templar_.  The sword resembled Templar heraldry in all respects, except that it faced upward unlike the actual downward symbol. He grinned. The dull title was simply a bit of deception on the part of that author. The so called manual was filled with decidedly improper tales about templars including a rather memorable sarcastic rewrite of Templar vows and an account of a much hushed up attempt by some templars to break into the vaults of their Circle in order to destroy the phylacteries of their lovers. Owning a well-worn copy of the tome had made him quite popular as a recruit. By the time he'd paid for the book and stored it away Blackwall and Varric were ready to leave.

            They found Dorian and set out toward Skyhold. It was some time before Daylen noticed that the mage was trailing far behind them. With a wave of the hand to indicate that Blackwall and Varric should continue on, he doubled back. He'd been ambushed by a bear too many in these parts.

            "He says we're alike. Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear that. Now I'm not so sure," Dorian said when he'd gotten close enough. "I don't know if I can forgive him."

            Pride seemed to Daylen a strange way to excuse having attempted a blood magic ritual on your own son. "He tried to change you?" he prompted.

            "Out of desperation. I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me...acceptable." Dorian kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead of them. "I found out. I left."

             "I had no idea blood magic could do such a thing," Daylen said. Most of the cautionary tales about blood magic he'd heard involved its use during battle.

            "I'm not sure it can. Maybe it would have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn't really want to go through with it. If he had...I can't even imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn't like that Dorian."

            Daylen didn't think he'd have liked that Dorian either. He made a mental note to send more letters to his family. This whole day had given him a renewed sense of appreciation for all of them. From his sister’s endless teasing to his uncle’s wonderful cakes.

            "Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn't what I expected, but...it's something."

            "Don't mention it."

            Dorian looked over at him, his expression uncertain. "Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display."

            Did the mage actually think he would think less of him? He recalled the things he'd heard earlier; flaw, deviant, aberration, shameful. What kind of courage did it take to refuse to bow down to the expectations of not only one’s family, but an entire society? If it hadn't been for the break out of the war and the mess at the Conclave he'd probably be a templar now, addicted to lyrium and miserable with his role. And he hadn't even been facing the risk of a blood magic ritual if he'd refused to take his vows.

            "I think you're very brave," he said finally. "It's not easy to walk your own path."

            The words seemed to surprise Dorian. "Normally this would be the part where I drink myself into a stupor."

            Daylen smiled. "When we get back to Skyhold I can show you where I keep some unusual bottles I've collected."

            Whatever response Dorian had planned to make was drowned out by Varric. "Are you lovebirds done chatting? Or do you meant to stand about as we do all the manual labor?”

            Setting up camp had become a routine for all of them by now and they made quick work of it. It wasn't long before they had a stew boiling. Blackwall was trying out his new knife on a fresh bit of wood and Varric was polishing Bianca. Dorian had fallen into silence again, his eyes on the flames. Daylen felt himself grow sleepy. He’d stayed up last night to cover both his and Dorian’s watch. Deciding it was as good a time as any, he pulled the book out of his pack and walked over to tap Dorian's shoulder with it. "I have something for you."

            The mage raised his eyebrow and took it from him. He examined the cover and stared up at him. "You suggest I become a templar? Breaking the laws of time wasn't enough excitement?"

            Daylen laughed. "Trust me. It's an enlightening read. In particular you might want to take a look at chapter five. It has a fascinating passage on alternate uses for lyrium."

            Dorian looked skeptical. "Aren't those a closely guarded secret? You're sure this book is accurate?"

            "Oh most definitely," Dalen said unable to keep a bit of wickedness from his voice. "Let's just say I've had the opportunity to conduct some experiments." He winked at the bewildered mage and ducked into his tent to finally get some sleep. 


	6. In Which Dorian Almost Loses His Mustache

            Dorian jerked awake. He sat up, heart still pounding in his chest. The meeting with his father had been replaying in his head for the better part of the day. He'd finally managed to fall asleep only to be plagued by a dream of Halward walking in on Rilienus 'tutoring' him with impressive enthusiasm. He cursed his brain for bringing that absolute gem of a memory to the forefront of his mind. With resignation he summoned a small wisp of light and picked up the book Daylen had given him. Perhaps reading some dull descriptions about templar responsibilities would help him fall asleep. Despite the Inquisitor's claims he doubted he'd find the tome an interesting read, even if it did have some kind of details about uses for lyrium. As a mage the substance wouldn’t have the same effect on him even if he followed the instructions word for word.

            But still it was a touching gesture that Daylen had thought to get him a book. He’d expected that he’d need to apologize for having dragged the Inquisitor into his personal family drama. Not to mention that whole business about ‘preferring the company of men.’ In his experience that news didn’t inspire warm reactions. But instead Daylen had called him brave and given him a book. It was bewildering.  

            He flipped the tome open to a random page.

            _A rivulet of lyrium traveled down his chest leaving a glowing trail in its wake. Samuel grinned and stopped the droplet's path with a kiss. Then with his tongue traced its journey back until their lips met. Their mouths crashed together in a tangle of heat chased by the cool tingling of lyrium._

Dorian blinked. This had to be another dream. In dreams objects always refused to cooperate, so he flipped to the table of contents. If this was a dream he'd never be able to make his way back to the front of the book. But he was able to find it just fine. His eyes skimmed over the first page of chapter titles: _The True Vows, Phylactery Conspiracy, Unicorns of the Order, Pranking the Commander,_ and finally _Lyrium's Better Uses._

            It was safe to say that he wasn't dreaming. Even his mind could not have conjured up a tale about unicorn owning templars. Curious, he turned to the chapter and discovered that it didn’t involve templars charging against armies of demons on the backs of mythical creatures. Instead it was a rumination on the circumstances leading to a scarcity of female templars. He laughed. To think that the Herald of Andraste had just given him a book with smutty passages. Giving up on the idea of sleep he returned to chapter five to discover what experiments the Inquisitor had conducted.

            A page into the chapter Dorian realized with shock that the tale involved a templar and his apostate lover. His _male_ apostate lover. It was a sappy tale that quickly devolved into detailed descriptions of their lyrium experimentation. What had Daylen meant by his comment? Did he mean to imply that he too had been with men? Or did he genuinely intend for Dorian to ponder on alternative uses for lyrium? Perhaps all of that flirting hadn't been a tactic to unbalance him after all.

            _Get a grip, Dorian._ He admonished himself. Much as he enjoyed Daylen's company it wouldn't do to forget that the man was the Inquisitor. Not to mention that despite all of Daylen's denials, much of the population believed him to be the Herald of Andraste. Even if the man was interested he would never act on it. The scandal of the Inquisitor licking lyrium off a disgraced Teviner pariah would shake the Inquisition. Dorian groaned in despair. He'd never be able to get that image out of his mind.

            When they set off in the early morning Dorian did his best to push the book out his mind. His best efforts failed him which was how he ended up practically stumbling into a demon leaping out of the rift in the sky. If it wasn't for his horse skittering to the side he'd have lost half his face to the swipe of a rage demon's claws. That was bad. Without his face he wouldn't have a place to keep his mustache. He leapt off the horse and shot ice at the creature.

            A second later a bolt from Varric shattered the frozen thing into a hundred pieces. "Look awake now, Sparkler."

            The Inquisitor was already wiggling his fingers and disrupting the rift. The demons whirled around them in a frenzy of claws and flame. Maker, he always forgot how much he hated rage demons. All that steam from ice meeting fire was a grievous threat to his hair. By the time the rift closed with the usual earth shaking blast, his mana had run low and he was gasping for breath. Daylen came up behind him.

            "Lyrium potion?"

            _Kaffas._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one this time around. Thanks for all the kudos!


	7. In Which Daylen Uses a Sword and Shield

               Krem and Daylen circled each other on the training grounds. They sparred this way on occasion. The Lieutenant of the Chargers knew how to hold his ground. Trying to unbalance him by bashing him with a shield almost always failed. Daylen supposed that had something to do with all the sparing Krem did with Bull. Krem’s attacks tended toward the clever and quick, as if he'd spent time fighting with daggers. He liked to take risks and attempted to take out opponents quickly. Having trained as a templar, Daylen leaned toward the slow and steady in his approach to battle. Fighting mages was more about surviving until they ran out of mana to attack. As for demons, they tended toward the erratic. Defeating them was all about evading attacks and patiently waiting for the inevitable opening. The differences in their techniques made for good training sessions between them. On any given day it was a tossup on whether Daylen would wear Krem out with his circling and evasion or whether Krem would land a clever blow that snuck past his defenses.

                "Move those feet, Krem!" Bull roared from the sidelines.

                Daylen rolled his eyes. He had a strong suspicion that the critiques were intended to distract him more than to instruct Krem. If there was one thing Krem didn't need advice on it was his footwork. His point was proven a few moments later when he found himself losing the grip on his shield to a clever maneuver.

                "I believe this one is mine," Krem said with a grin.

                "Boss, you need to stop going easy on him. His head will get too big for his shoulders," Bull commented.

                "I'm confident you'll deflate it in no time," Daylen said. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Don't think I don't know you're trying to distract me with all of your yelling."

                Bull clapped him on the shoulder and headed toward the tavern. He imagined a punch from a golem would feel similar.

                "That was clever," Daylen said. "I'll have to try that on the next Red Templar I meet."

                "Thank you, Inquisitor."

                Daylen wished he could get Krem to stop using his title all the time. But he understood the necessity of it. It would only create confusion among soldiers who were used to the chain of command. At times the title sat uneasy with him, but showing that in public would do more harm than good. Morale was everything, and it helped morale if everyone believed him to be the confident leader.

                Cassandra approached them. Sometimes she joined the sparring, but the past few times she'd been sneaking around with a book that seemed to absorb all of her attention. "Herald, could we speak a moment?"

                "Of course," Daylen said. He put away his training shield and sword and nodded a goodbye to Krem.     

                Cassandra led him to the armory which at this hour was a good place for a bit of uninterrupted conversation. Daylen regretted not having stopped for a drink of water. This could take a while, Cassandra seemed to disagree with everything he did. They sat across from each other at a small table.

                "I have spoken with Leliana and she tells me you have made your decision. But I cannot let this go in good conscience."

                _What a surprise._ "What's on your mind?" Sometimes he forgot that Leliana and Cassandra knew each other so well. He hardly saw the women together and yet they had both served as the most important advisors to the Divine before her death.

                The Seeker sat across from him, her face as always set and determined. "What happened on your trip to Redcliffe? I understand that the trip concerned Dorian."

                He kept his face carefully blank. "And who exactly gave you that understanding?"

                "Blackwall," Cassandra replied without hesitation. "He said that the meeting you attended with Dorian did not appear to have gone well."

                Daylen shrugged. "The meeting didn't concern the Inquisition. It isn't my place to say whether or not it went well."

                There was that look on her face again. The one he was sure she'd used on Varric when she'd been searching for the Champion of Kirkwall. "You are the Inquisitor. Everything you do is a concern of the Inquisition. I know that you refused to tell Leliana about the meeting and that you don't wish to hear any of her reports on the mage's background. Is that wise?"

                A part of him could not help but be in awe of Cassandra's sense of duty. Her devotion to the mission of stopping Corypheus never wavered. The woman wouldn't hesitate to throw herself into a pit of demons if she thought it would help.  "I trust Leliana to judge which matters must be brought to my attention. It is not my place to pry into Dorian's past or anyone else's."

                "A noble ideal," Cassandra said. "But do you not feel some members may require more scrutiny than others? We cannot afford to be blindsided in this fight."

                "Cassandra, I have every intention of defeating Corypheus. And when that happens I want to look back and know I wasn't a complete ass. It would be a poor show of trust if I felt the need to use my spy network to delve into private details about his life."

                "Then you trust him?"

                "With my life. Just as I trust you."

                Cassandra pushed away from the table and paced the room. The floor creaked with her every step. "You have not led us astray thus far. I admit that when it comes to mages I sometimes have...difficulties trusting."

                 Despite their differing views on the treatment of mages, his status as Herald, and a million things besides Daylen knew that the Inquisition needed her. She was a woman of action and she didn't fear speaking her mind. He needed people who disagreed with him at his side. And some part of him suspected that behind her tough exterior she had a secret soft spot. She'd help pick elfroot for refugee healers for hours without complaint and never pointed out the impracticality of agreeing to place flowers on graves made unreachable by war.

                "I can understand that. I did train to be a templar after all," Daylen said. "But we can’t group all mages together. Most of the templars joined Corypheus. Yet you continue to have faith in Cullen."

                "I do," Cassandra admitted.

                Daylen stood up. "I'm glad you brought it up. I know we don't always see eye to eye on things, but that’s a good thing. It keeps me on my toes."

                Cassandra smiled. "In that case perhaps you would like to hear another bit of advice."

                "Of course."

                "You spar with Krem on occasion, but you never completed your templar training. You should seek out someone who could train you further in that or some other discipline."

                Now that, was an interesting idea. He nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll bring it up at the next war table meeting. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. What is it that you’ve been reading so intently?”

                Cassandra blushed. “It’s just reports from Commander Cullen.”

                Daylen had never seen her look so uncomfortable. Was reports a code word for secret notes of some kind? 

                “He journals his reports to you in a book? Are they poetic? Perhaps scented? Maybe with flowers pressed between the pages?”

                She stared at him. “No! Maker-no! It’s not from Commander Cullen. It’s literature…Smutty literature written by Varric.”

                And there it was, one of those soft spots. “You mean the _Swords & Shields _series?”

                “You’ve read them?” Cassandra asked, eyes wide with surprise.

                “Dorian mentioned them once,” he said with a grin. “Said they almost melted his brain.”

                “Ugh- Don’t tell Varric about this.”

                “Me?” he asked doing his best impression of innocence. “Never.”

               


	8. In Which Dorian Thinks About Moths

            The flirtation between them continued and Dorian found himself referring to certain portions of _The Way of the Templar_ more times than he was willing to admit, even to himself. He excused it all away as important research. One never knew when inspiration might strike for a new spell or lyrium infusion. At times he told himself that he should back away from this dalliance, before it led to something dangerous. But resisting the temptation to play with fire had never been his strong suit. No matter how many times he got scorched he always ended up coming back for more.

            For his part, Daylen continued teasing him as if unware of the rumors that had begun to simmer throughout Skyhold. He still stopped by to play chess with Dorian, despite the fact he had yet to win a single game. Sometimes he invited him up to the battlements under the guise of discussing important strategy. Then instead of pressing him for research on Corypheus's weaknesses Daylen delighted in listening to him critique the Inquisition's uniforms. And on many occasions he'd lured him away from the library to join in a game of Wicked Grace with the others.

            One night, he found himself sitting in the tavern crushed between Iron Bull and Blackwall. Cassandra had once again forgotten whether the cards she held were good or bad and was consulting with Varric. Opposite him Sera had launched into a tale involving the theft of some noblewoman's knickers that had Cullen blushing. And Cole had started to build a tiny house with his cards. With wonder he realized that he had made friends. True, Iron Bull still called him Vint and Sera still called him spoiled, but somehow the comments had turned from biting to the teasing between friends. Even Solas, who kept to himself more than any of the others, came up to the library some days to ask his opinion on some bit of magical theory or other.

            "Hey Sparkler, where's the Inquisitor?" Varric asked shuffling his cards.

            Dorian shrugged. "How should I know?"

            "Thick as thieves. The twos of you," Sera said by way of explanation.

            "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Dorian said. He took a careful sip of his ale.

            Cole looked up from his house of cards. "Unexpected. So warm...like belonging."

            Dorian choked on his drink.

            Varric examined his own mug. "Well, paint a beard on me and call me a Ferelden. That's just what I was thinking about this beer. Kid, you could get a gig writing descriptions."

            Iron Bull clapped him on the back in what Dorian assumed was an attempt to help with the choking. Instead it sent him flying forward into the table. The rest of his ale spilled all over his lap. Sera burst into a fit of giggles.

            "Delightful," Dorian said. He'd be lucky to ever get the stench of the awful stuff out of his clothes. "You knocked over Cole’s house.”

            “Building card houses on the purple carpet. Mother’s fancy shoes. Where did the duck go?” Cole said.  

            “Kid, you’ll scare Sera,” Varric pointed out.

            Iron Bull gathered up Cole’s scattered cards. He whistled and fanned them out on the table. “Now _this_ is a good hand, Seeker.”

            “Ugh-“ Cassandra touched a hand to her forehead. “Dorian, I can smell you from over here.”

            Dorian stood up. “I believe that is my cue to leave.”

            He said his goodbyes and made his way toward his quarters. Instead of taking the quickest path he decided to cut through the gardens. No doubt those would be deserted at this hour, sparing him further comments about his drinking habits. He didn't realize his mistake until he found himself face to face with Mother Giselle.

            "Young man," she said. "I have been meaning to speak with you."

            He sighed. "I'm a little busy at the moment. Perhaps we could pick this up later? Say, never?"

            Mother Giselle pursed her lips. "This will only take a moment. It is about the Inquisitor. I am sure you have hear the rumors. Do you delight in flaunting your... undue influence?"

            He attempted to walk past her, but she blocked his path.

            "What exactly do you think you are doing?" she asked.

            The woman had been glaring daggers at him when she'd just thought him an ungrateful son and a Tevinter mage. Stupidly, he hadn't actually realized where the rumors that had been circling about him and the Inquisitor would lead. It would be assumed he was using Daylen. Attempting to get some sort of favor from him. Just another Tevinter seeking influence and power.

            "I'm being clucked at by a hen, evidently." He wasn't planning on discussing the matter with the Revered Mother.

            "Don't play the fool with me, young man."

            "If I wanted to play the fool I could be rather more convincing. I assure you." Of all times to bump into the woman it had to be when he stank of ale. He wasn't nearly drunk enough for this.

            "Your glib tongue does you no credit."

            "You'd be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence." He knew he shouldn't goad the woman. The people of Skyhold respected her and she held a lot influence. But he just couldn't help himself.

            Which was the moment the Inquisitor chose to appear from behind some shrubs. Dorian crossed his arms. He knew that Daylen had a fondness for the Revered Mother. They often conversed about the wellbeing of refugees and engaged in the occasional respectful debate about matters of faith. The Inquisitor wouldn’t be pleased with the argument, he hated discord in the ranks. Two weeks ago he’d overheard a soldier call an elven stable worker knife-ear and the man was still mucking out stalls and hauling water for the horses before and after his drills.

            "Ohh," Mother Giselle startled. "I-"

            "What's going on here?" Daylen asked. He looked at Dorian clearly expecting the explanation to come from him.

            "It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my undue influence over you." If he couldn't get out of this conversation, he could at least hurry it along.

            "It is just concern. Your Worship, you must know how this looks."

            "You might need to spell it out, my dear." The nerve of the woman.

            Undeterred Mother Giselle continued. "This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side…The rumors alone..."

            Daylen sighed. "Mother Giselle, do you think I haven't noticed that Dorian is from Tevinter? I don’t understand what you’re suggesting. Were it not for his assistance, a demon army led by Corypheus would be sweeping across Thedas as we speak."

            Dorian could have kissed the man. Even though Daylen had made it clear that he trusted him, a part of him had expected a scolding for ruffling the Revered Mother's feathers. She was a powerful influence with the people.

            "The masses do not know the details of what took place. Thus these rumors will continue. With all due respect, you underestimate the effect this man has on the people's good opinion. "

            Daylen raised an eyebrow. "These rumors. I'd love to hear all about them."

            "It is not my place to repeat them."

            The Inquisitor gave her an expression that closely resembled the one he’d worn after tripping and sinking a foot through the stomach of a corpse in the Fallow Mire. "So you've repeated them before? Perhaps you could instead repeat some of the truth of Dorian's actions. Imagine the impact that might have on the people’s good opinion."

            Mother Giselle bowed her head. "I see. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor. Only to ask after this man's intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both." She bowed her head once more and retreated across the garden and into the small prayer room that doubled as her quarters.

            Daylen waited until the door had closed behind her before turning to face him. "You smell like a brewery."

            Dorian looked down at himself. "Ah yes. It's the latest thing. Or haven't you heard? The fashion now is to wear one's ale rather than drink it."

            "Someone threw an ale at you?

            "No. That was an accident,” he hurried to explain. “You know Bull, always knocking things over." Enchanting as it would be to see Daylen to defend him again it wouldn’t do for him to think Dorian was incapable of earning the good opinion of at least a couple people.

            "Good. I'd hate to have to sing your praises at the tavern. I have a terrible singing voice."

            And just like that Dorian couldn't bear it. He simply had to stick his hand in the flames and prod at whatever it was between them. "I don't know if you're aware. But the assumption in some corners is that you and I are...intimate..." He cursed his voice for wavering.

            "Terrible, isn't it?"

            And he'd done it again. Like a moth burning to a crisp, unable to resist the flames. Always opening his mouth when he knew better. At least now he knew where they stood. He scrambled to compose his face and come up with some joke.

            Daylen took a step toward him. "I always did prefer rumors about me to have a basis in fact."

            And just like that Daylen leaned forward and kissed him.

           

 


	9. In Which Daylen Doesn't Mind Failing

            For a few seconds Daylen thought he'd miscalculated. Which would mean this was about to turn into a very awkward conversation. Then Dorian wrapped his arms around his waist and deepened the kiss. He reached up to touch the mage’s face, trailing a thumb over his jaw.

            "It appears you enjoy playing with fire," Dorian whispered.

            Daylen winked and kissed him again. The taste of ale reached him, mingled with the faint scent of citrus. Crickets in the garden quieted as if even they had retreated to grant them a moment of privacy. Or maybe it was just his focus on the meeting of their lips, gentle and passionate all at once. He didn't know how much time had passed before they broke apart. He wondered if he looked as dazed as Dorian. Probably more. He could feel where his clothes had turned slightly damp from being pressed against soaked robes and the warmth of hands still resting on his lower back.

            "Now I smell like ale too."

            Dorian cringed. "Terribly off-putting, isn't it?"

            "Oh I don't know about that. We're in a garden. There's moonlight. I think that might count for something."

            "Does it? My mind has been a bit occupied with other thoughts." Dorian's hands slipped to rest on his hips. "Perhaps it's time to dispense with these ale soaked garments?"

            That was a bit fast. Not that Daylen's mind wasn't occupied with what he was pretty sure were similar thoughts. But he wasn't interested in a single night of rushed fumbling for a physical release. That had its time and place. But this? This could be so much more. If the feelings weren’t mutual he had no intention of finding out about it at the end of the night. Best to wait until he was sure they were both in this with hopes for more than a bit of pleasure to pass the time between battles.

            "Tempting. But I actually came out here to check on the crystal grace."

            In truth, it was the reason he’d even happened upon the scene with Mother Giselle. Solas had mentioned that the rare plants did better when cared for after sunset. He’d been stuck in a war room meeting that had dragged on interminably and decided that a bit of time in the garden would not only be productive, but also do him some good. He’d have to thank Cullen tomorrow for his excruciating report on catapult adjustments. If it hadn’t almost bored him to tears he would have put off gardening for some other night and missed this chance for an ale soaked kiss he could recall with a grin rather than a grimace.  

            Dorian released him and took a step back. "You want to garden? Right now?"

            He chuckled at his incredulous expression. "Good things come to those who wait."

            "I-very well.” Dorian looked around the garden as if searching for someone to leap out from the bushes and announce the whole thing an elaborate prank. Only a frog made its presence known with a rumbling croak that startled them both.

            “'ll leave you to it..." He gave him one of those small smiles that was barely a twitch at the corner of his lips and walked away toward the door leading into the main hall.

            "Sweet dreams," Daylen called after him.

            With great difficulty he forced his mind back to the gardening. The limited light made the work slow. At least there wasn’t much of it considering there was barely space to plant. The planting area needed expanding. He’d have to add that to the endless list of things that needed doing. His thoughts wandered to Mother Giselle. He knew she meant well, but it was infuriating that instead of speaking with him she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. What did she think to accomplish by confronting Dorian? The cynical part of him thought that maybe she’d hoped to intimidate him into leaving for the good of the Inquisition. His optimistic side hoped she’d just made a bad start at trying to have a heart to heart conversation with the mage. He’d never met a Revered Mother as open minded toward changes within the Chantry and he respected her for her efforts in promoting peace. If she could see magic as a gift from the Maker that could be used for good or ill, then perhaps she could learn to see Dorian as more than a Tevinter out of a spooky tale used to frighten children.

            The next morning's meeting in the war room tried his patience more than scrambling across rocks to gather shards. Logically, he knew it lasted only a fraction of the time that last night’s had taken. Leliana and Josephine bickered back and forth about the best way handle a recent dispute with a merchant. Normally, he liked hearing different ideas before coming to a decision. Today, he thought he should receive a reward just for staying to the end of the meeting. When at last they'd settled on a course of action he made his way to the library.

            Dorian was in his usual chair, a book in hand. Bits of notes were scattered about on the desk he used to do his research as if he’d just paused to take a closer look at some passage.

            "I need to talk to you."

            The mage set aside the book and stood up. He crossed his arms in a manner that Daylen had come to recognize as a nervous habit. It occurred to him that his tone still reflected his annoyance with the meeting he'd just finished.

            "Actually, I was hoping to steal a moment alone with you," he clarified.

            "Oh," Dorian said with an amused sigh. "I need to talk to you he says. Have it your way...but let's go somewhere where a hundred onlookers won't think I'm stealing the Inquisitor's soul."

            Daylen allowed himself to be led away down the staircase and through several twists and turns. At first he didn't realize where they were going, but then they were under the scaffolding across from the stairs to his room. He hadn’t expected something quite as bold. Dorian stopped and turned around, he almost crashed right into him, not anticipating that he’d pause right under all the beams and dust.

            "No one ever comes here."

            That was true enough. Suddenly, he realized that Dorian had never been past the doors that led to his quarters. The mage had no idea that the staircase across from them led to his bedroom. He chuckled at the turn of events.

            "Let me show you something.”

             He took Dorian's hand and pulled him along. It was true. He did like playing with fire. Not to mention that he didn't intent to stand in a dusty hallway sneaking around like a teenager when there was a perfectly good sofa just upstairs.

             Dorian groaned in protest. "These stairs are more tiring than traipsing around the Storm Coast."

            "I'll remember you said that the next time we're there. Now come on." He nudged Dorian through the door.

            "More stairs? This is re-"

            Daylen reached out and pinched what could only be described as the perfect ass. Dorian gave an undignified squeak of surprise and turned to scowl at him.

            "You're a common barbarian."

            "Less talking. More walking."

            When he reached the top of the stairs Dorian looked around with raised eyebrows. "You intend for us to grope each other in someone's rooms?"

            Daylen grinned. "An interesting idea. But no. I have every intention of groping you in my own room. Do you think they give this kind of view to anyone?" He waved a hand toward the balcony.

            Dorian stepped out onto it and Daylen followed. Even on a cloudy day the endless stretch of snow covered peaks never failed to take his breath away. Through the windows that wrapped around the room he could see both the sunrises and sunsets. It was a pity he didn’t have more time to spend up here. Dorian looked into the distance in silence and shuddered as a gust of wind whistled past.

            Daylen hugged him from behind and leaned down to kiss his bare shoulder. "And you wonder why you're always cold."

            "A fur coat wouldn't make a difference out here."

            "You're the one who came out here."

            Dorian pulled away from him with a mischievous look. "And now I'm going back inside."

            Daylen closed the balcony doors behind them and poked at the fireplace to awaken the flames that had died down since the morning. The cold didn’t bother him much and he loved waking up to crisp air, but he had to acknowledge that was something of an acquired taste even for those who’d grown up in this climate. If the cold brought Dorian even a fraction of the displeasure that sweltering heat brought him, he could put up with a bit more warmth. He tossed another log into the fire and turned to find Dorian already stretched out on the sofa.

            "My feet are frozen." 

            "Perhaps you'd like me to rub them."

            Dorian scowled. "Pick that one up from Bull, did you? Or was it Sera?"

            Until this moment it hadn't occurred to Daylen that the jokes about his nobility might have actually been bothering Dorian. He'd always thought the sarcastic responses were a way to continue a jest. But now he wondered if they weren't more of a distraction from a genuine hurt.

            "Neither. And I'm serious. What do you think we recruits did after marching about for hours in heavy armor?"

            "Quite a lot it seems," Dorian said. "At least so I've read in a certain book given to me."

            "Can't believe everything you read," Daylen said going toward the storage area. His sister had sent him an expensive set of oils that could be used for baths or massages. He'd never been fond of a slippery bathtub and he hadn't found anyone to massage up until now. He grabbed the one that smelled of vanilla and jasmine along with a small towel and walked back out.

            Dorain raised an eyebrow.

            "I know what you're thinking,” he said with a laugh.”It's not _that_ kind of oil."

            An expression of utter innocence spread over Dorian's face. "Me? I was still wondering how much of that chapter about lyrium can be trusted."

            Daylen dragged the footstool closer to the sofa. "Oh you can believe every word of that. Now take off those shiny things you call boots."

            "You're serious? This is completely undignified."

            "Scared I'll tickle you breathless?"

            "You're not inspiring my confidence," Dorian said. After a further moment of hesitation he undid the buckles of his boots and pulled them off along with his socks. Daylen covered the footstool with the towel and pointed to it.

            "This is positively bizarre," Dorian said putting his feet up. "Is this some kind of fetish? Not that I’m unwilling to experiment…"

            "Don't tell me they don't have massages in Tevineter."

            He smoothed oil over the feet in front of him. It shocked him to discover how cold they actually felt. If he hadn’t seen these very feet emerge from boots and thick socks a moment ago he would have thought Dorian had been running about barefoot in the courtyard.

            "Actually, those are more of an Antivan pastime. We tend to soak our feet. Mineral waters, salts and all that."

            Daylen stopped with his hands still over toes that felt more like icicles and looked up at Dorian. "You mean no one has ever given you a foot massage?"

            "No..."

            Daylen couldn't help bursting out in laughter. He hadn't expected that. "So," he said when he'd regained control of his breathing. "I've lured a virgin into my chambers."

            With a groan Dorian buried his face in his hands. "You're insufferable."

            Deciding that he had teased the man quite enough he returned to spreading the oil. Once upon a time he'd seduced a new recruit with this tactic. He began at the top of the right foot and worked his way down. Steadily applying more pressure as he neared the soles. Earlier joking aside, it would be a poor effort if he caused fits of giggles. He glanced up at Dorian who was still watching him.

            "You're supposed to relax," he admonished. "Close your eyes, lean your head back. You know, that sort of thing."

            He turned his focus back to the massage. When he switched his attention to the other foot he looked up to find that his instructions had been followed. With a smile he returned to his work. It had been a long time since he’d been able to give his focus to doing something nice for another person that didn’t make him break out in anxious sweat. If he made a mistake at this no one would starve or lose their head. Dorian’s feet had warmed by the time the weariness in his hands forced him to stop. He looked up to make a quip about rendering the mage speechless, but found that instead he’d put him to sleep. A failed seduction if he'd ever seen one. With a smile he pulled the blanket from the foot of his bed and spread it over Dorian, making sure to tuck it over his feet. Then he went to his desk to work on some of the reports that had piled up.

 


	10. In Which Dorian Isn’t Late

            It was warm and the scent of vanilla and jasmine was in the air. Dorian opened his eyes and realized that he had no idea where he'd been sleeping. He’d spent a fair share of time in strange beds, but he wasn't in the habit of falling asleep in them. Except he wasn't in a bed. He was on a sofa. And then it all came back to him. He lifted his head and looked around. Daylen was at his desk absorbed in some report.

            How utterly embarrassing. He'd come up to the Inquisitor’s rooms and then fallen asleep like a cat. The man was too polite to even wake him and tell him he had work to do. How long had he been here anyway? If he didn't get back to the library soon someone might notice that the two of them had gone missing. As much as he hated to admit it, Mother Giselle was right. The Inquisitor didn't need rumors of _this_ spreading.

            "Sleep well?"

            "I apologize," Dorian said. "I haven't been sleeping well. I must have drifted off."

            Daylen smiled. "You don't have to apologize. I'll take it as a complement."

            There was a thick blanket covering him. _Maker._ Was the intent to melt him into a puddle of goo?

            "How long have I been here?"

            Daylen glanced at the dwarven timepiece on his desk. "A little over two hours."

            _Kaffas._ He pushed aside the blanket and scrambled to get his socks and boots back on. The Inquisitor truly had no sense of self preservation. "I need to go."

            "You're not late for anything, I hope?"

            Good. At last the man was coming to his senses. Finally thinking about what would have happened if Dorian had missed some meeting. That would had led to all sorts of questions about his whereabouts. Fiona or Helisma would be able to tell anyone that he'd left the library with the Inquisitor.

            "Luck is on our side. Not today. But I really must go."

            "See you for Wicked Grace tonight?"

            Dorian fastened the last buckle on his left boot and smoothed out his clothes. "Maybe."

            Then he all but ran from Daylen's bedroom. He took a roundabout way and decided against going back to the library. Best to go straight to his room and pretend he'd fallen asleep there. He didn't meet anyone in the passages except a maid with a basket full of laundry.

            Inside his room, he took out the bottle of West Hill Brandy he’d filched from the cellar Daylen had shown him, and poured himself a drink. He never let himself slip into foolishness like falling asleep in another man's chambers. At least not since Rilienus. Back then he’d been young and too naive to know that it was bound to end badly. He still didn't know why he'd thought that his father wouldn't go looking for him when he didn't return from that 'tutoring' session. To this day he blamed those whiskey colored eyes for having driven all sense from his mind. In the worst nightmares of his youth he hadn't imagined that his father would discover him one morning panting in ecstasy under Rilienus. Maker, they'd been so young and foolish. They hadn’t even bothered with keeping quiet or locking the door.

            He took a gulp from his glass. It was a shame that it was the only thing strong enough for this occasion, because it was the first decent tasting thing he’d had since coming to the south.  Normally he’d savor every sip, preferably after dinner. He took a breath. No one had seen him this time and everything was fine. He was being silly. There wasn't even anything between him and the Inquisitor except a few kisses, a bit of flirtation, and now that blasted sleep inducing foot massage. Perhaps that was what Daylen had been telling him in the garden. This thing between them couldn't go further. And that was for the best. They'd been spending far too much time together, just talking and getting to know each other. There were too many eyes on the Inquisitor. If they took this any further, the rumors would soon be too much. They’d have to end things, and it would be awkward. It wouldn't be possible to make a clean break. That would only draw more attention. They'd have to spend time with each other and do it gradually. He wasn't sure he had it in him to play the part convincingly.

            By the time he'd normally head to the tavern to play cards with the others he'd managed to drink enough to develop a pleasant dullness to his thoughts. True, it would make his card game terrible, but it also made thinking about earlier events seem unworthy of the effort. Determined not to change his routine he made his way over to the tavern. The crowd was smaller than usual today. Varric, Cassandra, and Blackwall were seated at their usual table. Daylen was nowhere to found.

            He took the empty seat next Varric. "Where is everybody?"

            "Probably saving their coin after Ruffles cleaned everyone out last week. Never bet against an Antivan," Varric advised for at least the third time.

            Dorian order himself an ale and watched as Varric shuffled the cards. They played a round without bothering to place bets. He barely paid attention to the game and instead focused on his drinking. Why had Daylen asked him about the game if he didn't plan on showing up?

            As if summoned by his thoughts, Daylen walked through the door chatting with Krem. Dorian saw him sparring with Daylen in the courtyard sometimes. He couldn’t recall Krem ever speaking a word. Then again he was usually busy watching Daylen.

            "Did we miss anything? I'd have been here sooner, but it took time to convince Krem to stop beating Bull with a stick and join us," Daylen said. He took the seat next to Dorian and listed off the names of everyone seated for Krem's benefit.

            "We've only played one round," Dorian said. He could almost keep his words from slurring.        

            "One round and you're drunk?" Daylen asked. "Did you steal Bull's liquor?"

            “No. I started early.”

            "I see… I was going to ask you to join me tomorrow. Scout Harding's message just arrived. There are matters needing out attention in the Emerald Graves. I thought you'd appreciate that for once we can go somewhere with nice weather."

            Dorian took a minute to ponder the fact that he would miss out on what might be the nicest trip the Inquisitor would ever take because he'd gotten flustered about a handful of kisses. He knew he would be in no condition to spend a long day in a saddle first thing tomorrow morning.

            "Take Solas," he said in defeat.

            For the rest of his night he played his cards without paying much attention. He couldn’t keep his mind from straying to Rilienus. To this day he could remember spotting him across the room at some dull function whose purpose he’d long forgotten. That skin, like a fine whiskey, and the way his lip curled in a smile. He’d been smitten on the spot. Rilienus had been a year ahead of him in his studies and an exceptional student. But he had little interest in the games of power so popular among the student body. Instead he delighted in helping others advance their studies. Sometimes Dorian would spot him in the library late at night, patiently walking a fellow student through some elementary bit of knowledge for the third time, without the slightest bit or irritation. Instead of joining politics Rilienus wanted to become an instructor. It had taken him weeks to work up the courage just to say hello to him when they passed each other in the halls.

          One day Dorian came upon what the administration called an ‘incident’, but what he called a shameless attempt by several students to outnumber an unpopular and particularly untalented mage in a duel. He’d interfered, and then spent a few days regretting it every time he looked at a bruise on his face that refused to disappear despite the healer’s best efforts. Rilienus had come to find him in the library where he’d been hiding his face behind a book and thanked him. It turned out that the unpopular mage was a good friend of his. After that they’d been joined at hip. It had taken Dorian until the approach of the summer holidays to take the leap and kiss him. He’d almost fainted from relief and joy when it was returned.

            “Is anyone even paying attention?” Blackwall asked. “Varric, you have an extra card in the hand you just put down.”

            “Missing Ruffles?” Varric asked. “What did the Kid say? With her voice delicate and delectable?”

            “You should ask her for a drink sometime,” Daylen said.

            Blackwall shook his head. “With the swill they serve here? No, that would be an insult. Only Dorian is enough of a drunkard to put up with the terrible taste.”

            Daylen bumped a shoulder into his but he found that he couldn’t come up with a witty enough comeback, so he put his cards down instead. To his great surprise it was a good hand.

            Cassandra tossed her cards on the table. “I give up. Someone tell us a tale. Blackwall, you never spoke of how you came to be a grey warden.”

            “Usual story. No one wants to hear it.”

            “I think it’s about time we heard from Krem,” Varric cut in. “You must have a tale or two. I’ve been working on a book, care to give some details for posterity?”

            “I have a chapter title for you,” Daylen said. “The Krem of the Crop.”

            The table burst into a mix of groans and sniggers.  

            Dorian let himself drift away from the conversation as Krem launched into some tale about his time with the Chargers. Rilienus had a reputation for being an excellent tutor. Thus it had been a simple matter for Dorian to come up with an excuse to spend most of the summer visiting his home. It wasn’t a complete lie. Sometimes when they lay in bed, warm and content, they’d teach each other spells and bits of magical theory. The passion between them had gone beyond wandering hands and shuddering breaths. They read to each other, complained about boring parties, mocked dull instructors, wandered through stores, and joked until they were both breathless with laughter. Once Rilienus had found a cheap heart shaped locket in the street and pressed it into his hand. It was sticky with dirt and so dented that it couldn’t be pried open. He’d put it in his pocket and then spent the rest of the day checking to make sure he hadn’t lost it before storing it away in the drawer of his nightstand.

            Everyone burst into laughter almost startling him out of his seat. He felt the weight of Daylen’s hand on the bare skin of his shoulder, casual as if only for a bit of leverage to rise from the table.

            “A good tale, but it’s about time I get some sleep.”

            The warm breath against his ear as Daylen leaned forward to whisper.

            “I’ll miss you.”

            Dorian could still remember the blissful feeling of his thoughts fleeing as Rilienus put all his efforts toward drawing moans from him that morning. His eyes had been closed when he’d felt Rilienus freeze. At first he’d thought it all a part of the game. Rilienus delighted in riling him up and stopping without warning, repeating the process until Dorian thought he’d go mad from a pleasure that found no release. He‘d opened his eyes in time to see his father physically wrench Rilienus out of the bed.

            Someone was shaking him.

            "Up! Where are your quarters?"

            "Ugh," from an unmistakable Cassandra. "I'll show you the way."

            Dorian struggled to make his feet obey him as Krem and Cassandra pulled him from his chair and marched him out of the tavern, through the courtyard, up staircases, and through corridors to his room.

            That had been the end of it between them. His father had taken him home without a word and told him not to leave his rooms until summoned. It was nighttime when he was called into his father’s study and told that he would not be seeing Rilienus again. Halward assured him that the instructors who’d vouched for Rilienus’s skill had been informed he was unfit to be trusted with impressionable young minds. There would be no opportunities for him to become an instructor in the future. He’d also had a word with his father and Rilienus was being sent away to live with a distant relative to think on his behavior. Through the tears choking him Dorian had tried to explain it all. That he hadn’t been taken advantage of at all. That he’d been the one to pursue things in the first place. His father had listened to him with a blank expression.

            Cassandra held him steady by the shoulders as Krem pulled off his boots then released him so that he sprawled into his bed. Krem placed something behind his back.

            “In case he gets sick. We should put a bucket by his bed.”

            When all his tears and explanations failed to elicit a response he’d said what he hadn’t even admitted to Rilienus. _I love him._ The words tore out of him so distorted by the emotion clawing its way out of his throat that it was a wonder his father could even understand them. Sometimes he still wondered what the answer would have been if he’d had the chance to ask Rilienus whether those feelings were returned.

            “Disgusting.”

            Dorian couldn’t puzzle out why his father’s voice so strongly resembled Cassandra’s.

 


	11. In Which Daylen Doesn’t Speak Qunlat

            The Emerald Graves had a stunning beauty to them. Despite an encounter with a couple of giants and some nasty pride demons it had been one of the most pleasant places he’d been to during his time as Inquisitor. Still Daylen was happy to be back at Skyhold. The closer they got the more his thoughts stayed to Dorian. He'd pushed the mage out of his thoughts to focus on the work that needed doing, but now that they were almost back he wondered if he was alright. The last time they'd seen each other he'd been drinking himself under the table for no apparent reason. Daylen hated playing games. He'd never put up with them in his prior relationships. As far as he was concerned such things were best left to Orlesian nobility.

            Some part of him knew that the only way forward with Dorian was to be patient. This didn't stop the other part of him from urging him to demand an explanation for why the man had bolted from his room like a panicked deer after a simple foot massage, apparently in a rush to get sloshed. Except he knew that if he did that Dorian would just come back with something sarcastic and lock down like one of those dwarven puzzle boxes the soldiers loved so much. With consternation he realized he barely knew a thing about him. He'd shared tales of his time as a templar recruit and the occasional tale about his family. Dorian had somehow evaded all questions about his life in Tevinter without him noticing it until now.

            Not that he'd tried pressing for information that hard. After meeting Halward he'd assumed that family might not be Dorian's favorite topic. But he never mentioned his friends or colleagues either. Surely Alexius had not been his only teacher? And what about Felix? The two were clearly close friends. It was strange that he could know so little about Dorian’s past and yet feel like he knew him so well. He'd learned to notice the way he crossed his arms when nervous and the little twitch of his lip whenever he tried to hide that something amused him. Sometimes he’d hear Cassandra or Blackwall make some comment and he’d know Dorian would make a quip even before they were done speaking. Most of the time he could even tell whether his sarcasm was a witty barb or a protective shield.

            He’d hoped that Dorian might appear to greet him when he reached Skyhold, but was met only by the usual gathering of workers. Among them he spotted an elven woman he remembered only too well. She’d fallen into a panic after waking him up when he’d first arrived in Haven. By her uniform it seemed she had started working for Josephine.

            She approached him and gave a small bow. “Herald, Lady Montilyet requested that I escort you to the war room as soon as you arrived.”

            Apparently his advisors had caught onto his trick of using ‘important business’ with Dorian to evade these meetings. “Thank you. I don’t believe I ever had a chance to ask your name.”

            She blushed and bowed her head again. “My name is Arla, Your Worship.”

            “Arla,” he repeated. “I’ll remember that. Lead the way.”

            He followed her into the war room. There was a plate of food ready for him when he arrived. He grinned his appreciation to an amused Leliana and sat down to hear about the latest developments. Josephine had managed to secure a way for them to attend the gathering in Halamshiral. Considering his family’s status he’d attended quite a few balls in his time, but at those the highest stakes were whether he’d remember the right fork to use with his salad. It made his stomach curdle just to think about what would happen if he stepped on the wrong foot and Empress Celene ended up dead.

            When he stepped out of the meeting he found Arla hoovering around the empty great hall. She approached him glancing about as if expecting to be reprimanded.

            “You Worship-“

            “Please,” he raised a hand to cut her off. “Inquisitor is more than enough. Mother Giselle is the only one I can’t deter from ‘yourworshiping’ me.”

            “Of course, I apologize Inquisitor.”

            “No need to apologize,” Daylen said. “How can I help you? Josephine can’t possibly have another message for me, we just had a meeting together.”

            “No, this is more of a…personal errand. Krem- I mean Lieutenant Aclassi wanted to speak with you.”

            That was a surprise. Besides their sparring matches it was almost impossible to get Krem to socialize with anyone outside of the Chargers and other soldiers. That he’d been able to convince him to join that game of Wicked Grace before leaving for the Emerald Graves had been a minor miracle. “Where can I find him?”

            “He said he’d wait for you in the tavern.”

            “Alright. Thank you, Arla.”

            Even though he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and sleep forever he made his way to the Herald’s Rest. Krem was seated in his usual spot. He waved him over and pointed toward a particular booth table. At this hour, there weren’t enough people to allow their conversation to blend into the usual hum of voices, clattering of plates, and groaning furniture. For some reason that he suspected involved Leliana, this was the only table in the tavern where sound seemed reluctant to carry. It made for the perfect place to have a private conversation without arousing suspicion by leaving to speak elsewhere.

            “Krem, good to see you.”

            “And you, Inquisitor.”

            “Arla said you wanted to talk about something?”

            Krem nodded and sat down across from him. “It’s about Dorian.”

            How many times had he heard that phrase by now? “Don’t tell me. He’s gone and spilled all our secrets to Tevinter?”

            “To my knowledge, the only thing Dorian spills is the contents of his stomach after too much alcohol,” Krem responded without amusement.

            Daylen sighed. Had Dorian been drinking the whole time he’d been gone? Still, he didn’t see why Krem would want to discuss this unless it concerned his men. “Has he caused trouble with the Chargers?”

            Krem shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. But a few days ago I found him drunk behind the tavern. Looked like he’d been crying his eyes out. I got him back to his room. But he’s been out of sorts ever since. I see him on the battlements sometimes, staring into the mountains like a corpse brought back to life. He thinks no one can see him up there.”

            “Oh.” Daylen’s mind whirred searching his memory for some clue about what could have upset Dorian. He recalled the strange expression he’d worn through most of the game of Wicked Grace before the trip to the Emerald Graves. “Has anyone tried to talk to him?”

            “If they have I don’t know about it,” Krem said. “Chief thinks he needs a ‘diversion’ from his research. But I think he needs his Kadan.”

            Daylen stared. “His what?”

            “It’s qunlat,” Krem said. “I don’t know the exact meaning. It’s what the Chief calls us Chargers when he’s had a few too many. But I think it translates to something between friend and family. What I mean is, I think he needs someone who cares. Almost everyone else here has someone who’s watching their back. You’re a good leader. You care for all your people. But I think between the two of you there is… a little extra care.”

            Daylen raised an eyebrow. “I can see why Bull hired you.”

            Krem smiled. “The Chief is a good spy. But matters of the heart, those take him by surprise.”

            Daylen didn’t know what to say to that so he nodded and put a hand on Krem’s shoulder in thanks before going out in search of Dorian. The halls were deserted at this time, most of Skyhold’s inhabitants had gone to sleep several hours ago. A faint bit of light slipped out through the crack under the door of Dorian’s room. Daylen knocked hoping the mage was awake and hadn’t just fallen asleep by the light of a candle. Silence, then the scrape of footsteps, followed by the door opening.

            Dorian looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “You’re back.”

            “Earlier today. I’ve been in meetings until now. Can I come in?”

            Dorian stepped back to let him into the small room. It barely fit a small bookcase, a dresser, and a narrow bed. There wasn’t even a window, although there was a sketch of some city on one of the walls.

            Daylen took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I wanted to see you tonight.”

            The mage didn’t respond and instead stood by the closed door.

            “Why so silent? I’ve missed that clever tongue of yours,” Daylen said, trying for humor instead.

            Dorian walked toward him and then to Daylen’s surprise dropped to his knees in front of him with a smile. His hands rubbed at his crotch and swept up to fumble with his belt. “I doubt that. You were never properly introduced.”

             “I-“Daylen captured his hands and pulled them away. “That’s not what I meant.”

             “Isn’t it? There’s no need to play coy. It’s the dead of night. You can be gone before anyone knows you were here. I know how to do this.”

             It took all of his self-control to keep from cringing. “I don’t want to do _this._ ” He patted a spot on the bed next to him. “Sit up here with me.”

             “Oh,” Dorian said standing up. He looked around the room. “I know I have the oil somewhere here…”

             “Maker,” Daylen said unable to hide his exasperation. “I didn’t come here for sex. I just wanted to see how you’ve been. What have you been up to while I was away?”

             With a puzzled look Dorian sat down next to him and launched into a detailed account of his latest research findings. It seemed he’d made good progress on discovering important information about Corypheus, but needed a specific book from Tevinter to continue. One that would be difficult to acquire.

             Daylen put his hand over Dorian’s and circled his thumb over it. “Is that what’s had you so worried? A book? I’ll ask Leliana and Josephine for some help first thing tomorrow.”

             “Thank you,” Dorian said. He looked away. “There is another matter you should know about… I received a letter. Felix went to the Magisterium. Stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial I’m informed. No news on the reaction, but everyone back home is talking.”

            “He must have taken a big risk in doing that. I’ll send him a letter of thanks. Can the Inquisition offer him any assistance?”

            “Doubtful,” Dorian said. He pulled his hand away and looked down at it, examining his nails. “He’s dead. The blight caught up with him.”

            _Sweet Maker_. Despite how little Dorian spoke of his time in Tevinter the depth of the friendship between the two had been obvious.

            “I’m so sorry.”

            “He was ill and thus on borrowed time anyhow,” Dorian said with a shrug.

            “Be that as it may. I know he was special to you.”

             Dorian looked up at him his face twisted with anger. “Felix wasn’t _special_ to me! Do you think I bed anything that moves? That I would have abused Alexius’s hospitality by seducing his son?”

            “I didn’t mean it that way,” Daylen said gently. “He was a friend. Seems to me you loved one another as that.”

            Dorian’s face softened. He looked away and sat in silence for a moment. “With him around you knew things could be better. He used to sneak me treats from the kitchen when I was working late in his father’s study. Don’t get into trouble on my behalf, I’d tell him. I like trouble, he’d say. He put the good of others above himself. It’s the biggest loss to Tevinter since the loss of Seheron and they don’t even know to mourn him.” A bitter laugh escaped him.

            “But you do.”

            Daylen put an arm around Dorian and slowly pulled him toward his chest, giving him a chance to move away if he wished. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that would be adequate. Dorian leaned into the embrace. They stayed that way not saying another word as Daylen’s shirt went from dry to wet, and back again.

 

 

 


	12. In Which Dorian Bargains

 

            Dorian examined the mosaic pieces hanging in the main hall. They'd found a couple of them scattered about and Daylen had insisted that putting up a few of them was better than nothing. He wasn't sure he agreed. Maybe if they were completed the effect would be impressive. Right now it looked more like someone had failed to remove an entire decoration from the wall. If they’d managed to find and match up all the pieces it would give him an excuse to stand here. Instead he looked like a complete idiot fascinated by a couple of shiny squares. Trainers had arrived in Skyhold and the Inquisitor had been in a meeting with his advisors for most of the morning. He knew that Daylen had been planning on taking the day off and if Dorian didn't find him after the meeting and drag him away he'd completely forget about getting any rest and start working on something.

            The slam of a door startled him. Daylen emerged from Josephine's office, his expression grim. He walked out of the main hall without so much as a glance around. A bit hesitant, Dorian followed him out. Most of the time Daylen kept his temper in check, especially in front of the public. But sometimes it bubbled out. Last week some minor lord had suggested that Daylen encourage more liberal use of the switch in Skyhold to keep his elven manservant from defiling the walls. Lucky for the nobleman Cullen happened to be walking by at that exact moment. As far as he knew, Josephine had been unable to convince the furious visitor that the Inquisitor had been displaying his unusual sense of humor when he’d grabbed at his shirt, called him a worthless worm, and offered to personally escort him from Skyhold.

            Daylen had stopped at the top of the staircase leading into Skyhold and was looking over the courtyard. He considered asking him what was wrong then at the last moment changed his mind.

            "Checking to see if you could leap off here without breaking a leg?" Dorian asked.

            "Do you think I could?"

            "Probably."

            Daylen smiled. "Always the optimist."

            "Perish the thought," Dorian said. "If you're done meditating on shortcuts, go get dressed in something weather appropriate and meet me by the gates. There's a grove nearby that I want to show you."

            "Is that an innuendo that I'm not following?"

            One day the history books would say that the Inquisitor had a one track mind...for defeating Corypheus. And it was going to make for terribly dull reading. 

            "You'll tarnish my implacable reputation as a brilliant mind with suggestions like that. I assure you my attempts at innuendo are never so _limp_."

            Daylen snorted. "Alright."

            Not long after they met by the gates and made their way out of Skyhold toward the grove. Dorian had discovered it one day when he'd been looking for a bit of peace. No one would think to look for Daylen here. If they couldn't find him, they couldn't bother him. The man needed a moment without a constant parade of people asking him for favors.

            "Want to talk about your meeting?" Dorian asked.

            "My advisors," Daylen said. "Came up with the brilliant idea of bringing a templar, a reaver, and a champion as potential trainers. It's like the start of a terrible joke."

            Dorian was willing to bet that it was Leliana who had suggested the templar. It was a fairly well known fact among Daylen's close circle that he had no interest in taking lyrium and continuing his training. But the woman always thought about practicality and what could be more practical than finishing up what was already half accomplished?

            "So are we going to be killing a dragon or- What is it champions do anyway? Compete in tourneys?"

            "Apparently you need take heraldic symbols off the bodies of some other champions."

            "How positively Orlesian," Dorian said. He desperately hoped Daylen was feeling Orlesian. He had no desire to face off with another dragon. He'd seen all the dragon he'd ever wanted to back in Haven.

            They stepped into the grove. It was secluded spot with little more than a patch of grass surrounded by trees, but it had a couple rocks that could serve as a seat and there was something peaceful about it.

            Daylen looked around and raised an eyebrow. "You want to sit out here? In the cold?"

            "The sacrifices I make to get a moment alone with you." Dorian brushed off a rock before taking a seat. 

            "I'll admit my days off do look a lot like all my other days," Daylen said. He picked up a handful of pebbles from the ground and sat down next to him. He weighed the first one in his hand then hurled it at a nearby tree. It reached its mark with a dull thud.

            It amazed Dorian the Daylen ever found time to see him. He couldn't imagine when he'd find the time with training in the mix. Maybe that would do a bit of good for the rumors. Sometimes he thought even Helisma had grown curious of the Inquisitor’s frequent visits to the library.

             "So, these trainers? Are they strapping?" Dorian asked.

            "You think I should just pick the best looking one?"

            "You should go with your best judgement," he answered. He didn't mention the very bad use of judgement that had led Daylen to agree to come to the grove with him in the middle of the day. Or to spend the night in his rooms a few days ago.

            Dorian wasn't used to being confused. As a student he'd always been a quick study. And yet it seemed that he'd met his match. What was the meaning of all this? When Daylen had shown up at his door in the middle of the night he'd thought that at last they'd landed in territory he could comprehend. Instead the man had waited and listened until the news about Felix had spilled out of him. It was as if he'd known all along that something was wrong. Then he'd been content to hold him without so much as kissing him. Until that night he hadn't even realized how much it hurt that when he'd heard about Felix there was no one to speak with who'd know what it meant. He'd considered speaking with Alexius, but decided that his involvement would only make the news more painful. Instead he'd written a note and given it to Fiona to pass on. None of it made any sense, but he held off on breaking it off or asking about it. Maybe it was the stubborn researcher in him that couldn't help but wait and see where all of it would lead.

            "I won't become a reaver," Daylen said startling him out his revere. "I'll leave drinking dragon blood to Bull. And killing men for trinkets doesn't a champion make."

            "You mean you’re considering becoming a templar?" Dorian asked. He couldn't imagine the Daylen who delighted in heretical literature taking his vows and lyrium like an obedient puppet. And what would an addiction to lyrium do to the man he knew? Mages could take lyrium without developing a constant need for it. It didn’t work that way for others. He could see it in the eyes of Cullen and the few templars who'd joined the Inquisition. It was a constant, restless hunger that seemed intent to both drive and destroy its host.

            "It's what's best for the Inquisition. It wouldn't occupy much of my time to complete my training and it would send a message of unification. That I never finished my training and then asked the mages for support sends the message that I dismiss the Templar Order. But that's neither true nor good for peace. We need templars, as much as we need mages."

            "And is that what's best for you?"

            Daylen looked at him with a small smile. "Does that matter? What I want seems a trivial matter compared to the fate of the whole world."

            "It's not trivial. You're not a sacrificial pawn. They picked _you_ as Inquisitor. Not some templar. What good does it do anyone if you become someone you're not?"

            Daylen tossed the rest of the pebbles in his hand at the tree one by one, his expression going blank the way it did when he was considering something carefully. "You know," he said at last. "Sometimes, I think you're the only one who sees me."

            "Don't be absurd. Thousands of people see you and you've an inner circle that would follow you physically into the Fade, if you could manage such a feat."

            "They see the Inquisitor, it's not the same."

            "You're always playing cards and joking with Varric. Sera treats you like a common peasant. Worse even."

            "Varric is kind, but he struggles to see me as more than an actor in another tale he's stumbled upon. And Sera treats me that way precisely because she sees an Inquisitor. It frightens her. Don't mistake me, I’m surrounded by people so incredible that at times I think it must be a dream. That they all entrust me with their lives is an honor and responsibility that overwhelms me at every turn. "

            It startled Dorian to realize that Daylen might find being Inquisitor intimidating. He seemed so at ease with the role and the people who surrounded him. Always at the ready to swap a joke, play a round or two of Wicked Grace, or for a simple chat. It seemed he befriended everyone he met, nobles with household discipline suggestions aside. Then again, none of the others even spoke to him without using his title and they didn’t seek out Daylen’s company so much as accepted it when offered. Not unless they needed a favor of some kind. Perhaps they both knew something of the special kind of loneliness that could only be found in the company of others.

            "It's your clothes," he said. "Only a common barbarian would wear such things. Even with the Inquisition's banner in hand you can't fool me."

            Daylen laughed and leaned forward to kiss him, soft as if he'd discovered a precious thing he feared to break. Dorian felt it linger on his lips, a strange warm butterfly.

            "Speaking of clothes. Come with me to Val Royeaux. I need something to wear to the ball at the Winter Palace."

            "Josephine found a way in?"

            "She did. She'll be going along with Leliana and Cullen. I can bring three more guests. Do you want to come?" He grinned. "You could be my date."

            "I don't think that's a good idea." _The things you say._

            "Why not?" Daylen asked, as if it weren't obvious. "I'm a great dancer."

            "Dancing with the evil magister, in full view of every noble in Orlais? The court would die of shock."

            "They'd live."

            "You tempt fate," Dorian said making an effort to keep his tone light. "No. I would be bored out of my mind. What is a party without a blood sacrifice or two for entertainment? I'm certain Vivienne will be of more aid at the Winter Palace."

            Daylen sighed. "Very well. Anyway, you would have to share me with the Grand Duke Gaspard. He's our way in."

            "Well that settles it. I don't share," Dorian said. "But I will go to Val Royeaux with you. You can't go to Halamshiral in the rags you call clothes."

            "How can I ever thank you for your service?"

            Dorian pretended to struggle with the question. "Seeing as you'll soon be running off with the rich and powerful Gaspard, perhaps you'd let me grope you like a teenager one last time?"

            "I can't agree to that," Daylen said. "But I might agree to let you grope me several more times at minimum. And only if I can grope back."

            "You drive a tough bargain." He slid a hand around Daylen's waist and pulled him closer. "I accept."

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Thank you all for the kudos and comments! They always make my day. :)


	13. In Which Daylen Offers Help

 

                Daylen picked up the last report on his desk with a sense of relief. He'd been stuck at his desk for the better part of the day. It was a short one from Leliana. Maybe there would be enough time left over for him to make it to dinner with everyone else. He rarely had a chance to eat with others at Skyhold, reports and meetings often kept him occupied well past dinner time.  

_Something for your attention Inquisitor._

_One of our soldiers spotted Dorian engaged in a, how shall I say, ‘heated debate’ with a man outside Skyhold. I investigated, worried it might have some connection to the Venatori, but this doesn't seem to be the case. The man is a merchant from Val Royeaux, Ponchard De Lieux; he possesses an amulet which Dorian was attempting to purchase. I'm uncertain why they argued, but if you wish to investigate further, I'll leave the matter in your hands._

Despite all his impassioned talk of fashion, Daylen had a hard time believing that Dorian would be so desperate to acquire a regular amulet. Whatever the mage bought with the money paid to him by the Inquisition, it wasn’t accessories, or any other personal possessions. This was despite the fact that some of his robes were beginning to look a bit worn and a room that lacked even the simplest of comforts. It had to be an important piece of research. Although that still left the question of why he hadn't mentioned it to anyone else. He could go to the library and ask Dorian about it. Then maybe he'd convince him to join him for dinner. They hadn't had much time to see each other since the day at the grove.

                When he approached Dorian smiled and set his book aside. "Don't tell me. We need to talk?"

                Daylen chuckled at the jest. "Actually, I do want to talk. I've been told something about an amulet..."

                The smile disappeared. "How did you hear that? Oh...Leliana. Of course she would find out. Don't make an issue of it. I don't want someone solving my personal problems for me. I'll get the amulet back…somehow. On my own."

                The response took him aback. Don't make an issue of it? He'd barely gotten a question out. Maybe Dorian was miffed about having his privacy invaded? But the report wasn't anything more than an account of something he could have spotted himself if he'd been passing at the right moment.

                "I'm not entirely certain what it is."

                Dorian didn't appear placated by this information. He waved his hand in dismissal of the conversation's importance. "The Pavus birthright. The flashy thing you show peons to make them tremble at your impressive lineage. I didn't leave Tevinter with much in the way of coin, so I sold it. Entirely forbidden, of course, and foolish, but I was desperate. I'll figure something out."

                "You're not exactly on good terms with your family. Why would you want it back?" The minute the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. As if Dorian could have forgotten about that. Not to mention that he was away from his homeland and everyone he'd known, it made sense that this amulet, given up only as a last resort, would be important to him.

                Dorian flinched as if he'd been slapped. "Because it's mine, and it shouldn't be...passed around like candy."

                "I’m sorry. As you'd say, that was unworthy," Daylen said. "Maybe I can help?"

                "Leave it be."

                "It’s clearly important to you. We'll find a way to get it back."

                Dorian crossed his arms. "And I will. I'll get it back. I lost the amulet. I may not have your resources- I can't ask you to...You have too many people asking you for everything under the sun. I won't be one of them."

                "You didn't ask. I offered," Daylen pointed out. He didn't understand the pride that emerged any time he offered to do anything to help the mage. When he tried to help Dorian with his research he was shooed away and when he’d ordered some books on necromancy Dorian had insisted that he give them to Solas. After much back and forth he’d relented and given them to the very puzzled elf.

                "Have you gone deaf?" Dorian snapped. "I said leave it be. How many times must I repeat myself?"

                Daylen lifted his hands in mock surrender. It was infuriating. Couldn’t he even offer to do something nice for Dorian without getting his head bitten off? 

                "Forgive me for daring to suggest that the great _Lord_ _Pavus,_ man and mage extraordinaire might need help of any kind. Maker forbid anyone question his perfection." It was a low blow and he knew it.

                "Kaffas! Think what you like."

                Dorian pushed past him and disappeared down the staircase. He could hear the pounding of feet against stone steps and then a door slam so loud that it startled several of Leliana’s ravens into taking flight. He turned to find Helisma watching him. Was it just his guilty conscience or did she look a bit accusing? Daylen rubbed a hand across his face. He'd made a mess of things. Miserable and not the slightest bit hungry, he headed back to his quarters.

                Early the next morning Daylen searched for Dorian, but couldn't find him in any of his usual haunts. He went to his room, but lost the courage to knock on the door when it occurred to him that Dorian might still be sleeping. The trip to examine darkspawn activity on the Storm Coast with Bull, Cassandra, and Cole had been planned two days ago. He'd never been less excited about going to that gloomy place. With resignation he headed down to the stables.

                "Words like salt rubbed in a wound...Wanted to help, but got it wrong. Wishing to pull them back," Cole said on seeing him. "But words only travel one way."

                "Very true," Daylen said with a sigh. "Come on. I'd hate to miss the Storm Coast."

                "You don't mean that," Cole said. "But I like the Storm Coast. The wind… it wants to play with my hat. And the sea waves to me."

                As they traveled he wondered what he was going to do on their return. When they got back from dealing with the darkspawn, the trip to Val Royeaux awaited. He hoped he'd be able to work things out with Dorian before then. He really did need help finding something to wear. And more importantly, he hated being at odds with the mage. He regretted his words. Dorian worked hard to rid himself of the image of a spoiled noble. And as for all the quips about his perfection, upon being offered a genuine compliment he denied everything. In a moment of irritation he'd gone for a soft spot and twisted. It was a bit of cruelty he wasn't proud to discover within himself. Too late he realized it would have been better to risk a couple barbs from a sleepy and annoyed Dorian than to leave without apologizing. Daylen considered writing him a note and sending it by raven, but that would make it seem as if he didn’t even care to apologize in person. And he didn’t think that Dorian, with his almost obsessive insistence on privacy in all things, would appreciate him sending notes that might be seen by Leliana. No, this would have to wait.

                “Inquisitor, have you given any thought to whether or not you’ll continue training as a templar?” Cassandra asked.

                That had been weighing on his mind ever since the arrival of the trainers. “I have, but I haven’t come to a decision.”

                “Boss, forget all that lyrium crap. Let’s kill a dragon. _Please_.”

                Daylen rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Bull. We’re not provoking a fire breathing creature with the advantage of enormous jaws, and wings for no reason other than the rush. Isn’t killing darkspawn stimulating enough for you?”

                “They don’t all breathe fire. Some dragons send out this magical boom.” Bull followed that with a grunt so sexual that it made Daylen distinctly uncomfortable. As he saw it, that kind of noise did not belong anywhere near the word dragon.

                “Drinking the blood of a dragon is not to be taken lightly,” Cassandra said. “It has made many of my relatives strange.”

                “And you think all that lyrium doesn’t screw you in the head?” Bull asked. “Have you seen Cullen? Our Commander is wound so tight I’d pop his cork myself if only he’d let me.”

                Cassandra made a sound of disgust. “I’ll thank you not to pollute my mind with such images.”

                “These images,” Bull said. “Tell me, are you in them or are you just off to the side…watching?”

                Cole, who’d been observing in silence, looked between the two. “I see, but I don’t understand.”

                “Maybe the Seeker can draw you diagrams later,” Bull said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some myself.”

                “Could you? I think that would help me to understand,” Cole said, his tone so genuine that Daylen couldn’t help but laugh.

                Cassandra gave them all a withering look. “Such ridiculous talk aside, you should speak with the Commander about your decision. He may have advice to give.”

                He nodded in agreement. That wasn’t a bad suggestion. The Commander hadn’t been pleased with his decision to recruit the mages and the two of them never spoke of anything besides Inquisition business. But he’d certainly been a templar long enough to have some thoughts on this decision. The only time he saw Cullen do anything other than work was when he played the occasional game of chess with Dorian. Thinking of Dorian made him miserable all over again and he was grateful when the others didn’t attempt to continue the conversation.


	14. In Which Dorian Cheats

                Dorian cursed himself for the hundredth time for losing his temper with Ponchard. If he hadn't raised his voice Leliana wouldn't have noticed a thing, and then Daylen wouldn’t have brought up his birthright. He still couldn't quite grasp how the conversation about his amulet had taken such a turn. After the trip to Redcliffe he'd promised himself he would never ask for anything more. People were always asking Daylen for all kinds of things, like supplicants making habitual prayers to the Maker. He wasn't going to be accused of bedding his way to baubles and scraps of power from the Inquisitor's table. Daylen's last words to him rang through his head like an enchanted echo. _Maker forbid anyone question his perfection._ He cared for Daylen. Hearing the words had made him realize just how much.

                That silly heart of his had gotten ahead of his brain and imagined this was heading toward something. He didn't know what that something was, but it was more than a bit of fumbling around in dark corners. All those words, gentle touches, and soft kisses. He’d thought that Daylen saw past the masks he sometimes wore. At the very least he’d believed Daylen thought him more than a spoiled noble. _Kaffas._ He was acting like a love sick puppy. It was time to put aside this foolishness. Anyway, there would be nothing between them now. Men who made scenes were far too inconvenient. He’d sealed his fate by storming out of the library.

                Why did it bother him that it was over? He'd been with men who'd barely cared if he was awake for the bedding and left before he'd taken his pleasure in the act. It wasn't anything a strong drink and a visit to a brothel couldn't fix. What did this matter to him when the two of them hadn't even progressed to the bedding part?

                “You’re a real tit,” Sera said taking a seat across from him. “Moping around in here. Again. You could be having it off in some tent.”

                Dorian didn’t think he’d ever grasp how Sera’s mind worked. The words spilled out of her mouth without any logic. Half the time he had no idea what she was talking about. “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

                She picked up a crust of bread someone had abandoned at the table and threw it at him. “I don’t use your fancy words. Don’t mean I’m daft. I see the way you watch him. Almost makes me sick.”

                The piece of bread hit him between the eyes then landed in his lap. With disgust he knocked it off his robes. “And what is it you’d prefer me doing? Should I try to get myself into some serving girl’s… what is it you’d say? Ah yes, knickers. Would that make your more comfortable?”

                “All that demon shite in your head keeps you from paying proper attention. You and I? We’re the same.”

                Dorian thought he had more in common with Mother Giselle than with Sera. Unwilling to risk getting something else thrown at him he stared in silence.

                “Don’t give me that creepy magey face. Gives me the willies,” Sera said. “I’m the one who goes after the knickers. You’re all about the breeches.”

                He wished she would give up on using metaphors. They never made the slightest bit of sense. “ _You’re_ wearing breeches.”       

                She blew a raspberry in response. “Play dumb all you like. Doesn’t fool me. You like men. I like women. We’re the same that way. Difference is, I’m searching for knickers and you’ve only got one pair of breeches on the mind. A pair that comes with a glowing hand. Get it?”

                Was it really that obvious? All of that effort with sneaking around and even Sera had noticed something. He sighed. It would be pointless to try and deny it. “Very well. I like to watch a certain pair of breeches. It doesn’t mean those breeches want my robes.” Not anymore anyway, he couldn’t help but think.

                Sera tugged at a bit of hair that had fallen into her face. “Not your robes for sure. Without the robes more like. Jousting. Sugary looks. Lots of cheering. Yea?”

                “Please don’t explain that metaphor,” Dorian said. He prayed no one else was paying attention to the conversation.

                “You better get to it,” Sera said. “Or someone will get at his bits before you do. Like Bull.”

                Dorian grimaced. It was clearly over between them after the argument, but the idea of Daylen with anyone else didn’t sit well with him.

                Sera grinned at his reaction. “Don’t make that face. Don’t think he’d wanna ride the Iron Bull? Who wouldn’t be curious? Maids around here never complain.”

                “The Inquisitor can…” He couldn’t bring himself to say ride. “Do as he likes.”

                “Sure,” she said. “Happens he’d like to do you. But you’ve got your head up your own arse so there’s no room for anything else.”

                This conversation had gone far enough. “I’ll thank you for dropping this. There are enough rumors without you sticking your nose in.”

                “Rumors. Shite. Humans always going on about your rumors,” Sera flapped her hands like a wounded bird trying to take flight. “Some stuffed shirt says something and you get your knickers all in a bunch. Can’t control what others do with their tongues. Might as well do as you like with your own.”

                Dorian stood up to leave. If only things were actually that simple.

                “Eh. Right waste. Go on then. All that fancy learning and you don’t know a thing.”

                Dorian stepped out of the tavern and realized he had no idea where he was going. There was no pressing research that needed doing at the moment and he didn’t think he’d be able to focus on reading anyway. It was a rare warm day and he had no desire to sit in his room. _Cullen_. He could drag Cullen away from his work for a game of chess. It would do the Commander good to sit in the sunlight. If he lost any more color he’d start to turn transparent.

                He made his way up the battlements and pushed open the door to Cullen’s office. Something smashed against the doorframe as soon as he stepped in, spattering him with bits of splintered wood.

                “Commander, you flatter me. But there’s no need to smash things on my account. A simple good afternoon will do.”

                “Dorian,” Cullen looked stricken. “Maker’s breath. I didn’t hear you enter. Forgive me.”

                “I’ll forgive it,” Dorian said. He looked down at the bits of wood and glass. “Provided you tell me what you threw at me.”

                “My philter,” Cullen said.

                ”Don’t you need it? Templar powers, tortured looks that make the ladies swoon, that sort of thing?”

                “No,” Cullen said. He put a hand to his head and turned toward the window. “Or that’s what I tell myself. I don’t know anymore. I no longer take lyrium.” 

                Dorian had heard of addicts who’d sell their own hand for just another bit of lyrium. He’d never heard of anyone simply giving it up. “Is that safe?”

                “Those who are cut off from lyrium eventually go mad. Some die,” Cullen said. “Do not be concerned. I have asked Cassandra to watch me closely. Should I no longer be fit to serve she will relieve me of my duties.”

                Dorian couldn’t imagine the Inquisition without Cullen as the Commander. The soldiers liked and trusted him. And for all his displeasure with Daylen for giving full ally status to the mages, he treated these additions to the Inquisition fairly. Also, there was that whole dramatic tortured look that made more than a few eyes follow him longingly. Not that the Commander ever noticed. It would be a complete waste if the man went crazy before someone got up the nerve to point out he was a catch.

                “I think it more likely you’ll go mad from being cooped up in your office at all times before you ever fail in your duties as Commander. Join me for a game of chess in the courtyard. I understand you like to keep yourself free of freckles, but you’ll start to scare ghosts.”

                Cullen sighed and turned back toward him. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe some fresh air would help with these headaches.”

                They made their way into the courtyard. The Commander looked so ill that Dorian didn’t even have the heart to cheat at the game. On any other occasion he’d have to put all his focus into the game. Cullen was an excellent player. Today he didn’t even bother to watch the board to make sure Dorian didn’t move pieces around the board out of turn. Instead he closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun.

                “If you’re not going to pay attention we may as well drink ourselves under the table,” Dorian said at last.

                “I do not think I should substitute one addiction for another,” Cullen said. He considered the board and made a move. “Tell me, does it even help? All that drinking?”

                Dorian found that he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to that. Cullen closed his eyes again and he took the opportunity to shift a couple pieces on the board in the Commander’s favor. He searched for a change of topic. “Have you ever read _The Way of the Templar_?”

                Cullen opened his eyes and nodded. “Of course, it is mandatory reading for all recruits. Why do you ask?”

                “I was referring to the unofficial version.”

                Cullen laughed, a bit hesitant like he wasn’t sure he remembered how it was done. “I may have skimmed a copy of it once upon a time.”

                “A fascinating read,” Dorian said. “I can’t arrive at how much of it is true and how much is just an amusing tale.”

                “To the best of my knowledge all of it,” Cullen said. He coughed and looked around. “In fact, I could personally vouch for a chapter.”

                This was simply delightful. Dorian raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be the lyrium chapter, would it?”

                The Commander turned red. If Dorian didn’t know better he would have called it a case of spontaneous sunburn. “No-Err- The one about playing pranks on Commanders.”

                The game stood abandoned between them. “Tisk. Tisk,” Dorian said. “And here I thought you were just another templar. Putting the fear in mages. Doing good deeds. Obeying your orders.”

                He’d meant it as a joke, but clearly that had failed. All traces of amusement had drained from Cullen’s face.

                “I apologize,” Dorian said. “It seems I left my good jokes in my quarters.”

                Cullen raised a hand in acknowledgement of the words. “No. Forgive me. It’s my sense of humor. It’s just…There was a time when I did not think I’d be ever be able to trust myself in the presence of another mage. My service at a Circle during the last Blight didn’t go well.”

                “But here you are now,” Dorian said. “And with an evil Tevinter magister at that.”

                “Yes.” Cullen looked down at the board on which he was now impossibly a single move away from victory and smiled. “Checkmate, my friend.”


	15. In Which Daylen Is Hungry

            Daylen had tried to plan out what he would say to Dorian when he got back to Skyhold. All of it sounded pathetic so he decided to throw caution to the wind and show up without a plan hoping it would all work itself out. Maybe Dorian wouldn't even be upset with him anymore. After all, they’d both had a couple of days to cool off. He walked into the library where Dorian was as usual reading a book. At least some things hadn't changed.

            "Inquisitor, how can I help you?"

            And there it was again. His title instead of his name. _Definitely still upset._ "Dorian, how’ve you been?"

            "Splendid. You know me, never a dull moment. I've been having the servants peel my grapes and feed them to me. It's the only way to live."

            _Ouch._ "Can we talk?"

            "Isn't that what we're doing?"

            "I mean about the last time we spoke."

            Dorian waved a dismissive hand. "Let's not dredge up the past. It's already forgotten. I've spoken to Vivienne. She'll accompany you to Val Royeaux in my place. Her fashion sense is impeccable."

            _Already forgotten._ What exactly was that supposed to mean? Surely a couple stupid words weren't enough to end everything that had been between them? People argued. Then they admitted to being an ass, tried to make up for it, and life moved on. Or at least that was the way his life had gone so far.

            Daylen rubbed at his temples. "I can't blame you for being angry with me. But won't you at least allow me to apologize for being a complete idiot?"

            Dorian stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

            "The last time we saw each other… I lost my temper and said something I didn't mean. It was hurtful and I'm sorry. I should have apologized before ever leaving for the Storm Coast."

            Dorian watched him wide eyed. "I-Then... Does this mean you still want me to go with you to Val Royeaux?"

            "Of course I want you to come with me. That is if you still want to go with me." He really hoped the answer to that was yes.

            "I do," Dorian said. He shook his head and laughed. "You're constantly surprising me."

            "Does this mean you accept my apology?"

            "Yes. I- Storming out wasn’t my finest moment. I apologize for that.”

            Daylen sighed in relief. All of a sudden he felt light enough to float up and join the ravens above. It had been the simplest exchange of apologies he’d ever experienced. At the very least he’d expected to have to throw in a foot rub.

            He grinned and leaned forward to place his hands on the armrests of the ridiculous pink chair he’d been all too happy to lose in a game of chess. "Can I kiss you silly now?"

             Dorian let out a puff of air that might have been annoyance or amusement. "We're in the middle of the library."

            "Technically, this is an alcove."

            How had he never noticed Dorian's eyelashes before? They were as magnificent as his hair. He reached out to tip Dorian's face upward. And there were those eyes. One day, if they survived all this, Varric would write pages about them.

            "Sera knows." If he'd been asked to make a list of things he might have expected to hear at the moment, that phrase would not have made its way onto the first fifty pages.

            "What?"

            "Knows about us. I-Well, she just kept going on about breeches. I couldn't think of anything to convince her she was mistaken."

            "Breeches?" Daylen asked unable to keep from laughing. "Dorian, what are you talking about? Never mind." He kissed him. Their lips met, a little awkward from the angle, but even so it was perfect.

            Daylen leaned closer to his ear to whisper. "She can draw pictures if she likes. I don't care." He took advantage of his proximity to nibble playful at the ear now within reach. Feeling bold he leaned his knee against the edge of the chair between Dorian's legs and slowly slid his leg forward.

            "I need that ear," Dorian said his voice breathier than he'd heard it before. "There's dinner. If you're uhh-"The knee found its destination and he pressed it gently against Dorian rocking it slightly for a bit of friction. "Hungry."

            He pulled away with a smile. Much as he would love to continue this little game he knew it was pushing his luck to even kiss Dorian anywhere except in absolute privacy. It was best to quit while he was ahead, before Dorian remembered worries about rumors and got that panicked deer expression.

            "Care to join me?" he asked

            Dorian squirmed in the chair. "I already ate."

            "Did you now?" He raised an eyebrow.

            "You're impossible."

            He laughed. "I tease too much. I know. I'll see you first thing tomorrow. It's all arranged. We're going to Val Royeaux by carriage."          

            At some point they’d have to discuss why Dorian insisted on doing everything himself. But that discussion could wait. For now everything was back to normal. Tomorrow they’d have a perfectly nice trip where the most unpleasant thing likely to happen would involve getting stabbed with a pin by the tailor. He made his way to the dining hall. As usual, he arrived late and there was hardly anyone left eating. To his surprise Cullen, who normally ate in his office, was sitting at one of the tables. He gathered some food for himself and made his way over.

            The Commander went to his feet as soon as he spotted him. "Inquisitor, how can I assist?"

            Daylen raised a hand to stall him. "Cullen, you don't have to leap to your feet whenever I enter a room. It makes me nervous. I was just hoping to sit and eat with you."

            "Oh." Cullen sat back down. "Of course, Inquisitor."

            "It's good to see you out of your office," Daylen said sitting across from him. "How have you been?"

            "Good. The troops and mages have been working well together."

            Daylen let go of the fact that this wasn't exactly an answer to his question. The Commander often looked unwell, but he didn't think it was his place to press the issue.

            "Cassandra suggested I speak to you about lyrium."

            A pained expression crossed Cullen's face as he put down his fork. "Of course, Inquisitor. I am prepared to step down. I have kept careful records. If you allow it, I will assist Cassandra in taking over as Commander. There are some things I have not had the chance to explain to her."

            Daylen had absolutely no idea what any of that was supposed to mean. The Commander had been preparing to step down and hadn't thought to mention it to him? That was completely out of character for Cullen who informed him about every catapult adjustment, of which he made far too many.

            "Why haven't you brought this up before?" he asked.

            "Forgive me," Cullen said. "I didn't think the lyrium withdrawal would diminish my faculties so quickly. But if Cassandra feels it's time then I trust her judgement."

            "Lyrium withdrawal?" Daylen repeated. "But there's plenty of lyrium in Skyhold."

            Cullen's brow furrowed. "Then-You wish me to begin taking it again?"

            "I wasn't aware you'd stopped," Daylen said. "Perhaps you could explain all of this from the beginning."

            "I no longer take lyrium," Cullen said. "I've asked Cassandra to watch me carefully in case my ability to lead is compromised. I assumed that was what you meant."

            Daylen knew what happened to templars who were denied lyrium. It wasn't a pretty sight. But then all of the one's he'd met had been cut off as punishment. None of them had done it deliberately. "I had no idea. You must be in a lot pain."

            "It comes and goes. I accept it."

            "I see no reason for Cassandra to take over. You do excellent work as Commander."

            Cullen sighed. "I should be taking it. How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave the Chantry."

            Daylen shook his head. When he’d first become Inquisitor he’d been plagued constantly by the question of just how many people depended on him. Dwelling on it hadn’t done him or anyone else any good. He remembered what Dorian had told him that day in the grove and drew upon the conversation for help.

             "What you want is important. You were selected as Commander. We have our pick of other templars. If you no longer wish to take lyrium then I respect that decision. You give more than enough."

            "I-Thank you, Inquisitor. If I may ask, have you made a decision with regards to your training?"

            And all of a sudden Daylen found that he had. If Cullen could stop taking lyrium he could do without taking any to begin with. Everyone else had gotten here by following their own path. He was always telling others to make decisions they could live with after they defeated Corypheus. It was about time he start acting on his own advice. Taking lyrium now would rob him of any chance to lead a normal life after all of this was done.

            "I'll send the trainers home. Krem does well enough as a sparring partner. We keep each other sharp. Vivienne would be glad to blast me with a spell or two for practice any day. Perhaps you could share some of your expertise as well? As a Commander you must have a better mastery of the battlefield than most here. My strategy mostly consists of hitting the nearest thing until it stops moving."

            “You are far too modest, Inquisitor.”

            “I’ve yet to be accused of such a thing,” Daylen said. “Next time you’re practicing let me know. I’ll join you. Then we’ll see who’s being modest.”

            Cullen bowed his head. “As you wish.”

            They finished eating dinner in companionable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by that time I saw all the work required to get a specialization and said nope. :p


	16. In Which Dorian Worries About the Library

            For something so fancy on the outside, the horse carriage that Josephine had arranged for them was very cramped. Cassandra had taken one look inside and gone back to get a horse. Which was saying something because she usually referred to them as dung monsters with hooves. Dorian found himself sitting next to Sera with Daylen across from him, their knees almost touching. This proved more distracting than he'd expected. Sera seemed intent on looking out the small window and watching the passing sights. Dorian took a page out of her book. They were still in the middle of nowhere.

            He nearly jumped out of his skin when something brushed up against the inside of his leg. He looked over to find Daylen watching him with an innocent look, a report in his hands. Dorian narrowed his eyes in warning and got only a wink in response. He looked back out the window and had just relaxed, sure that Daylen had given up on the game, when he felt it again. He turned back to give the Inquisitor his most severe expression.

            "Twos of you gonna play footsie the whole way?" Sera asked.

            Dorian groaned. This trip was going to be torture. It was unbelievable that Daylen could fluster him just by knocking a knee against him. For her part, Sera gave him the occasional bit of relief by distracting Daylen with a tale about some elaborate prank or other.  

            Daylen’s antics should have annoyed him, but he found them oddly endearing. It was a pleasant surprise that Daylen had meant what he’d said about not caring that Sera knew about them. He wasn’t sure how many of the others suspected that his relationship with the Inquisitor wasn’t what one might call strictly professional. Iron Bull made so many lewd comments about everything that it was impossible to decipher whether or not he actually meant anything by them. And sometimes during card games, when Daylen would elbow him or put a hand on his arm to get his attention, he’d catch Blackwall’s gaze lingering on them. But the grey warden never made any mention of it. Cassandra remained oblivious. Leliana had to know by nature of her role as spymaster. Mercifully, Cole had restricted his commentary to showing up in the library to ask why he spent so much time wondering whether Daylen would stop by instead of going to find him. And he doubted very much that Vivienne or Solas could be bothered to be in any way interested in what he did with his time.

            When they arrived in Val Royeaux he all but leapt out of the carriage. Sera wandered off in search of mischief with a reluctant Cassandra in tow while they headed toward the marketplace. They went to the tailor first where Dorian made a feeble attempt at convincing Daylen to pick something on par with Orlesian fashion. He knew a lost cause when he saw one.

            Daylen shook his head at the design. "Those sleeves are a menace. I'll get them caught on something. And don't get me started on wearing a mask. I need to be able to see where I'm going."

            Dorian sighed. "Your inability to combine practicality with flair is terribly limiting."

            "It's a good thing I brought along someone who doesn't shrink away from a challenge."

            Daylen flipped through the pages of design sketches, skipping past all of the promising outfits. He tapped at a simple jacket that Dorian suspected might be popular with soldiers looking for a last minute formal outfit.

            "Challenge may be an understatement," Dorian said. "If you insist on wearing that uninspired design then at least wear it in a bold color. Perhaps a red. Everyone is going to be looking for you. Might as well make yourself visible."

            Daylen brightened. "And just think. If I get stabbed, no one will notice the blood stains."

            As the tailor took Daylen’s measurements Dorian considered if it had been a mistake to decline an invitation to Halamshiral. Jests aside it would be a dangerous event. Blood magic wouldn’t be out of the question and he hoped that Vivienne was up to the task of protecting everyone.

            After Daylen had squeezed in a lewd joke about his 'measurements' and finished placing his order, they returned to the open market, picking up a variety of items from a list compiled by Josephine. Daylen bought a bag of roasted chestnuts and they wandered through the stalls sharing it. Dorian had been skeptical about the pale lumps, but was finally coaxed into trying one after which he was forced to admit that the buttery snack was rather good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the opportunity to take a leisurely stroll through the marketplace with someone. Whenever it had been, he’d had the coin to spend. These days he saved almost everything in the hopes that it would help him recover his birthright. Not that it had done him any good thus far. He allowed himself the indulgence of outrageously expensive soaps imported from Tevinter. Getting Skyhold’s merchants to order them had become a hassle.

           He'd just finished paying when high pitched squeals and chirrups erupted from a nearby crate. Daylen was crouched by it in delight. Dorian squeezed his way past a crowd of cooing women to see what had caused the commotion. It was a crate full of nugs. Some of them were curled up in a large sleeping pile while others hopped around them with excited squeaks. He'd spotted nugs before, but he'd never seen them up close. They scampered away quick as rabbits when you tried to approach them in the wild.

            "Adorable, aren't they?" Daylen said. Several nugs were snuffling at his hands as he tried to pet them.

            A couple of the men gathered around the crate rolled their eyes.

            "Their paws look like hands." Dorian didn't think it necessary to point out that this made them a little creepy.

            Daylen scooped out a scrawny one with a dark spot over its eye and cradled it. "Admit it, they're cute. We should get one for Skyhold."

            The surprises never ended with Daylen. "Whatever for?"

            A tall woman pushed her way through the crowd of customers. "Inquisitor! I didn't see you there. How can I assist you? I promise you won't find a finer selection of racing nugs in all Thedas!"

            Daylen rubbed the nug’s ear. "They can race?"

            "Oh yes, monsieur," the merchant confirmed. "But the one you are holding is best suited for domesticity. You'd want a plumper one for the races." She indicated several that were enthusiastic leaping over each other. "And you'll need at least two of them. A couple of siblings perhaps. They do best with company."

            Before Dorian could protest Daylen placed the excited nug in his arms. He fumbled with getting a grip on the tiny thing as it attempted to nuzzle against him.

            "I'm not planning on racing them. Does that one have a sibling?"

            "She's a twin," the merchant nudged at the sleeping pile and pulled out a bleary eyed nug, identical to the one in Dorian’s hands. She handed it to Daylen.

            "We'll take them," Daylen said without pause. "Do they come with a carrier?"

            "Of course, monsieur. Allow me to fetch one for you."

            Daylen grinned down at the nug that had fallen back asleep in his hands. "We'll need names for them."

            "Have you gone mad?" Dorian asked, fending off the nug that was now attempting to paw at his mustache. "Whatever are we going to do with them?"

            "We won't _do_ anything with them," Daylen said. "They're pets. I miss having those around."

            Of all improvements necessary for Skyhold, the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste wanted pets at his fortress. "But who will take care of them?"

            "I will. And I think Helisma would be happy to help care for them when I'm away. A couple of days ago I caught her in the stables. She was helping Master Dennet care for an ill horse. I know they say that the tranquil don't feel emotions, but I swear when she was brushing that horse down there was something there. It was like a flicker of someone else behind her eyes."

            Dorian didn't want to point out that this had to be an illusion spawned by hopeful imaginings. It was impossible to recover from the Rite of Tranquility. That was a well-established fact. Although he had no doubt Helisma would be capable of taking care of the creatures in the same mechanical way that she completed all tasks.

            "But- Nugs in the library!" Dorian shuddered at the thought.

            The merchant returned with a sizable basket carrier. "I have placed some hay inside. But really they aren't picky. They'll eat anything."

            _Wonderful_. Dorian sighed. He'd have to move all the books that were on the lowest shelves. He placed the wriggling nug in the basket where it happily curled up next its twin. Daylen thanked and paid the merchant. He handed the carrier to Dorian and pulled the shopping list out of his pocket. Dorian accepted it with resignation. There would be no convincing Daylen that this was a terrible idea, just as there was no convincing him that leading a druffalo home personally was a task beneath an Inquisitor. 

            "Just one more thing.” He walked up to the display window of a jewelry store. 

            "Trinket for a special lady?" Dorian joked. Crazy as Daylen's impulse purchases were he couldn't imagine they were looking for jeweled collars for Skyhold's newest residents.   

            "Absolutely. She stole my heart at first sight," Daylen said with a laugh. "I need a necklace. Something unusual, but tasteful. What do you think of that?"

            Dorian squinted at the necklace. Probably a gift for some noblewoman or other. He pointed instead to a delicate bird pendant. “If you want unusual, that’s better.”

            He waited with the nugs while Daylen stepped into the shop to make the purchase. Dorian glanced into the basket. _Maybe they are a little adorable_ _...when they're sleeping._ When Daylen emerged from the shop they headed toward the tavern where they were supposed to meet Cassandra and Sera. As they passed yet another merchant's alcove he heard a familiar voice.

            "Inquisitor! Good, good, this is exactly what I was hoping for!"

            _No_. This could not be happening. He turned to look at Daylen. Once again he was being ambushed. "Is _that_ why you asked me here? I said I wanted to do this myself. I don't want to be indebted to anyone, least of all you."

            Ponchard stepped toward them. "I apologize but that won't be possible. Do forgive me Inquisitor, but when I heard of your _association_ with Monsieur Pavus, I could not resist. It's not coin I seek for the amulet, but influence. Influence you possess but which the young man does not. Provided of course, you...desire the amulet? For your friend?"

            Dorian felt the blood drain from his face. So the rumors had reached this far after all. Any day now they'd be sending him letters from Tevinter. He could see them now. _Found yourself another wealthy man to care for you? Since your father can't drag you from his estate, do you think you'll stay long? Or will he toss you out when he loses interest?_

            "Aren't you a merchant? Why not just sell it back?"

            "I am not a fence, monsieur. I only bought your friend's amulet because of what it is. I do business in the Imperium. Having a birthright, even one not your own, is most useful in...select situations."

            "He's got the right of it there," Dorian muttered.

            "That's why I gave the young man so much. If he relinquished it, how is that my doing?" Ponchard said with a shrug of the shoulders.

            Gave the man so much indeed. Ponchard was no fool. He'd known the value of the birthright and he'd known that anyone willing to sell it would have to be desperate. For all the money he'd gotten for it, it had still been a fraction of the amulet’s worth. But he _had_ been desperate. The little coin he'd brought with him had run out and it was either that or starve.

            "You refused to sell Dorian his amulet. So what is it you want from me?" Daylen asked.

            "I am not attempting to manipulate you, my lord. I only wish equitable recompense. The League de Celestine is an organization of wealthy noblemen in Orlais. I would join, but I lack lineage. If someone like you applied pressure, they would admit me. _That_ would be worth the return of the amulet."

            Daylen turned to him. "What do you think, Dorian?

            _All of a sudden what I think matters_. "Leave the man be. I got myself into this. I should get myself out of it."

            Ponchard cut in "Perhaps you should accept your friend's help, monsieur."

            Dorian felt something snap in him and he couldn't keep his mouth shut like he knew he should. "Kaffas! I know what you think, and he's not my friend. He's..." He saw Daylen's horrified expression out of the corner of his eye. "Never mind what he is," he finished. Denying these sorts of rumors only fanned the flames.

            The display of irritation seemed to amuse Ponchard. "As you desire. Even so, that is the price. I shall accept no other."

            Daylen sighed. "Fine. I'll get them to let you into this League de Celestine."

            He couldn't believe his ears. The Inquisitor was actually letting his arm get twisted into this absurd arrangement. "What? You're going to give in to this cretin?"

            "Do you want your amulet back?" Daylen shot back.

            Dorian wanted to lie. To say no. But the truth was he did want it back. It was his, a symbol of his homeland, a sign that no matter what had occurred between him and his family there was a place where he belonged. And he'd need it if he ever wished to return to Tevinter.

            "I...yes. I do. I simply-"

            Ponchard cut in again. "Much obliged, Your Worship. The moment I receive an invitation from the League I'll have the amulet delivered. It's been an honor doing business with you."

            "Influence mongering." Dorian spat the words with as much venom as he could muster and spun on his heel to leave.

            Daylen went after him, tried to pull him back with a hand on the shoulder.

            He jerked away from the touch. "I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you to involve yourself in this.”

            “Yes, but-“

            “But you decided to _ambush_ me with it anyway! I don't want to be in your debt! I don't want to be in anyone's debt”

            On top of everything else he couldn’t even deny that this unwanted gesture lead to exactly what he’d wanted for a long time. He’d sworn that he’d never ask Daylen for another favor and find himself with yet another debt he had no means of repaying. Then his arm had been twisted and he’d given into the temptation of getting his birthright back. 

            Daylen stared at him. "You don't think- This isn’t-"

            “Don’t tell me. This isn’t what you wanted. You just wanted what was best for me.”

            Several people on the street had turned to stare. He was making a scene, but found he didn’t care. The rumors had reached here already. What did a few more matter? That Daylen of all people would trick him into this meeting after everything that had happened with his father stung. Yet another person who thought for certain they knew what was best for him, never mind his feelings or wishes.

            Daylen flinched. “Dorian, please-“ He stopped midsentence when a flock of masked women who’d given up on pretending they weren’t listening to the argument broke into a fit of giggles.

            He reached for another bit of venom. “Next you’ll tell me this _display_ is uncalled for.”

            The words hung in the air a moment before Daylen blanched. At first, he thought he’d finally provoked the anger that he’d only seen directed at others, that Daylen might try to shake sense into him or worse. Instead Daylen dragged both his hands over his face as if he were trying to wipe off the expression of hurt that had appeared on it. He almost apologized then.

            Daylen let his hands drop to his sides. “That’s not what-“

            Almost. "I’m done discussing this!"

            He walked away, leaving the Inquisitor behind. It wasn't until he'd gotten out of the courtyard that he remembered that they'd arrived in Val Royeaux in the same carriage. Furious he went in search of Cassandra. He had no intention of sitting across from Daylen for hours on the way back. Let the Seeker deal with the Inquisitor. The nugs squeaked meekly in protest as he marched toward the tavern.

           

 


	17. In Which Daylen Is Mistaken For a Squirrel

           Daylen stood in the middle of the courtyard watching Dorian storm away. Half the marketplace had stopped in its tracks to observe their argument. His stomach roiled and he thought he’d end up concluding the show by losing his lunch right then and there. Instead he took a deep breath and turned around to find that Ponchard was observing the scene with clear amusement. The discovery did nothing to improve his mood.

            "Send the amulet right away. You've my word as Inquisitor that I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

            The merchant gave him a small bow. "I'm sympathetic, monsieur. Terrible _difficulties_ come of upsetting our sometimes friends, non? But you must understand. I did not make my fortune on words."

            Daylen gave up on restraining his annoyance. "A true pity. You’ve so many words that if you could sell them you’d have retired by now. Don't anger me, Ponchard. I can get you into this League or I can arrange something very unpleasant. I gave you my word. I expect to see that amulet in Skyhold right away."

            Ponchard blanched. "But of course, Inquisitor. Right away, Inquisitor."

            _Brilliant._ He’d just threatened a merchant like a common tyrant. Another thing he could add to a list of colossal errors in judgement. The letter from Ponchard requesting a meeting with him had arrived the morning they were setting out to Val Royeaux. He'd meant to bring it up during the trip, but Dorian had been in a good mood and he didn't want to get into another argument with Sera in the carriage. So he'd let it go unmentioned. Daylen hadn't even been sure that he would take the meeting, but then Ponchard had noticed him and well, what could be the harm in speaking to him? The favor the merchant wanted seemed inconsequential. Leliana or Josephine would be able to arrange for such a thing without batting an eyelash. In exchange, Dorian would have his amulet back. It was the perfect arrangement.

            Except, all of it had transformed into a twisted reflection of Dorian’s meeting with his father. Intentionally or not, he’d ambushed Dorian with the encounter and disregarded a clear request that he stay out of the matter. Daylen couldn’t blame Dorian for being angry about that, but he didn’t understand what debts had to do with anything. What had he done to deserve such an accusation? As if the whole thing was an elaborate plan to manipulate Dorian into owing him some unnamed favor.

            They’d agreed to meet back at the tavern so he made his way there. Cassandra and Sera were standing nearby. Judging by Cassandra’s concerned expression and Sera’s annoyed stance, Dorian had already spoken with them. The nugs squeaked from the carrier at Cassandra’s feet.

            “What’d you do to him?” Sera asked as soon as he’d gotten close enough.

            “And why do you assume the Inquisitor to be responsible for having done anything?” Cassandra asked. “Dorian’s flair for the dramatic in all things is-“

            “No,” he cut her off. He’d done enough damage for the day without allowing the others to equate this to Dorian’s taste in fashion. “It’s not whatever you were going to say. I did something that was…disrespectful. Where is he?”

            Cassandra cleared her throat, looking taken aback. “He wanted to trade places with me for the return journey. He said he’d get my horse and meet us by the carriage. Sera and I are done. Are we leaving?”

            He nodded and picked up the carrier before leading them back to the city’s main gate. Dorian was fumbling with the saddle when they approached.

            “I can take the horse if you’d prefer.” Daylen guessed that traveling by carriage might be a luxury Dorian missed. There was no telling when there would be another opportunity for a leisurely trip. 

            “Your generosity knows no bounds. Perhaps you’ll drag me inside for my comfort?”

            He raised his hands in surrender. “Of course not.”

            “Then desist in pestering me.”

            Daylen stepped back and followed Cassandra into the carriage. He should have known better than to try and offer any kind of favor after an argument about exactly that. Sera hopped in after him, her nose wrinkled in displeasure. The only small mercy was that she did nothing more than shake her head at him before turning to watch Dorian through the window.

            Daylen opened the carrier to check on the nugs. They’d blinked up at him.

            Cassandra cleared her throat. “You know, Leliana used to keep one as a pet.”

            “You’re joking,” Daylen said. He couldn’t imagine the spymaster keeping a pet that wasn’t terrifying.

            “I am not,” Cassandra protested. “What was its name again? Schmeples? Shmuples? Ugh it is right on the tip of my tongue...”

            Sera scowled. “They’re like fat…fish-face rats. I hate rats. And fish. Whacha get them for anyway? Stew?”

            Daylen closed the carrier protectively. “They’re not for _eating_. They’re for company.”

            “Leliana travelled with it during the Blight. It was a gift from the Hero of Ferelden,” Cassandra said.

            If anyone else had told him such a story he would have accused them of making up nonsense. The Hero of Ferelden allowing a nug to tag along for battles against darkspawn. A mabari hound, certainly. But a nug? He’d have to ask Leliana about it some time. 

            They arrived back at Skyhold in the middle of the night without the usual horn blast announcing his arrival, for which he was infinitely grateful. All he wanted to do was to slink away and hide in his quarters. He stepped out of the carriage in time to see Dorian disappear into the tavern. Sera grabbed his arm before he could follow Cassandra out of the courtyard.  

            “So, that’s it then? Done and off for easier fun? Only want someone who’ll jump to orders?”

            The middle of the courtyard was really not the place for this conversation as far as he was concerned. “Mostly I want sleep.”

            She let go of him. “He likes you, idiot.”

 _Am I the idiot or is he the idiot? Or is it both of us in this case?_ Daylen sighed. “You honestly think it would do any good if I tried to follow him?”

            She glowered. “Shite. I dunno.”

            “I’d only make it worse right now. He wants his space. Just keep an eye on him. Don’t let him spend the night passed out in the courtyard.”

            “Course he won’t. Don’t need you ordering me to do that.”       

            Thankfully it seemed his advisors had decided it was too late for a meeting and he made his way to his quarters without further interruptions. As usual there was a new stack of reports on his desk. To his shock there was an amulet on top of the pile. Daylen picked it up and looked at the accompanying note.

            _Inquisitor,_

_This arrived for you. The bird that carried it is recovering from the effects of some spell. Likely one to hasten its flight._

_-Leliana_

            Clearly his threats had worked better than he’d imagined. Amazing how such a small thing could cause so much trouble. He put the amulet back on the desk. Tomorrow he’d try to make this right. He wasn’t going to wait around and let this fester. If Dorian wanted to yell at him some more, fine. He probably deserved that. Still, wrong as it had been that he hadn’t warned Dorian they might meet Ponchard, he didn’t think that getting an amulet back for him could be equated to attempting a blood magic ritual. Dorian had even said that he wanted the birthright back. And he hadn’t spoken to Ponchard in exchange for anything.

            If anyone else in the inner circle need a similar favor Daylen would have helped them just as willingly. It was the least he could do considering the sacrifices the others made on his behalf and all the help they gave him. On top of which, Dorian wasn’t just another member of the Inquisition. They’d grown close and when they were together Daylen felt…at home. For Dorian he would have been willing to take on tasks far more inconvenient.

            Impatient squeaks interrupted his ponderings. He opened the carrier and watched the nugs as they scampered around the room, exploring their new surroundings. They snuffled their way around all of the furniture. He lay down on the bed exhausted. Despite his weariness, sleep evaded him. Maybe he should check on Dorian after all? _He’ll be drunk by now. Nothing good will come of that._ Daylen tossed and turned listening to the scraping of nug nails across the stone floor. But maybe he should go and check on him anyway. What if Sera had gotten distracted? The clicking of nails quieted only to be replaced by soft snoring from under his bed.

            Giving up on sleeping Daylen got out of bed as quietly as he could and grabbed a jacket and shoes. He was the Inquisitor, there was no reason he couldn’t sit in the gardens…in the middle of the night. Could he help it if Dorian usually chose to cut through them on his way back from the tavern?

            Daylen stepped into the garden making sure to ease the door closed behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake Mother Giselle. It was surprisingly warm outside. Even these mountains couldn’t keep out the steady approach of warmer weather. A rustling drew his attention. Someone was crouched by the pots of crystal grace. His hand went to grasp for a sword that wasn’t there before he came to his senses. Cullen and Leliana worked tirelessly to make Skyhold secure. Not to mention that it was highly unlikely that a dangerous intruder would waste time admiring the gardens. Had someone taken ill in the middle of the night? His foot scuffed a loose stone as he approached.

            The figure startled and spun around suddenly becoming familiar.

            “Krem?”

            Krem sighed in obvious relief. “Inquisitor! You gave me a scare. I thought you might be a squirrel.”

             “A squirrel?” Daylen laughed. The same man who’d convinced Iron Bull to join the Inquisition in a battle against demons feared adorable tree loving rodents.

            Krem rubbed the back of his neck. “Haven’t been fond of them since that time the Chief had us dealing with these walking trees. Sylvans they’re called. We hacked down a whole lot of them out in the Dales.”

            “That’s a story I’d like to hear one day. But what are you doing out here in the middle of night? Is someone ill?”

            “Why would anyone be ill?”

            Daylen nodded at the flowers. “Crystal grace has powerful curative properties. It’s more potent than elfroot and quite rare.”

            “I’m not familiar with plants. They’re the nicest flowers here.” Krem cleared his throat. “I’m trying to make a bouquet.”

            _Thank the Maker._ If anyone in Skyhold got sick with something requiring crystal grace as a treatment, they’d be in trouble. In the confines of a fortress disease would spread quickly and there wasn’t enough of the plant on hand for an outbreak. If asked to point out a miracle it would be that a cold had yet to run rampant through the Inquisition's ranks.

            “What’s the occasion?” Daylen asked.

            Krem blushed. “It’s…well…it’s for courting.”

            “Oh.” Gathering flowers by moonlight. If only Varric were here to capture this moment and place it in _Swords & Shields, _Cassandra would be thrilled. “In that case, I can’t object to you talking a couple stalks. You could surround them with daisies. They’re practically overrunning the other side of the garden.”

            “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

            “If you’d like some help arranging them I can be of service,” Daylen offered. “Although it’s been a while since I’ve tried my hand at an arrangement.”

            “You know how to arrange bouquets?”

            “Used to sneak in on my sister’s lessons before I left for Templar training. Amazing, the things noble women are expected to learn.”

            Elaina still teased him about it sometimes, but it had been an unexpectedly worthy investment of his time. The other recruits bemoaned holes in their socks and walked about with shirts puckered from too much pulled in fabric. He’d always been able to mend his clothes properly without much effort.

            “I’d be much indebted to you.”

 _Again with debts._ “This isn’t something that needs repayment. Are debts a Tevinter obsession?”

            Krem raised his eyebrows. “I meant it as a politeness. But it’s not unheard of for debts to be an obsession in a place where an inability to repay can end in a life of slavery.”

            He could have kicked himself. “Of course, I’m sorry. I’ve something else on the mind. Let’s get started.”

            Krem inclined his head and they set about selecting the nicest stalks of crystal grace before walking over to the patch of daisies that had, to his knowledge, taken hold on its own. They sat down to gather them. Perhaps Krem could help him understand what had happened with Dorian.

            “Is it uncommon for people in Tevinter to do favors for one another? Without expecting things in return?”

            Krem plucked several daisies before answering. “Inquisitor, I hope I am not being presumptuous, but does this have to do with Dorian?”

            “It does.” He accepted a handful of daisies from Krem and started on arranging them around the stalks of crystal grace. "I wonder if there may be some cultural misunderstandings between us.”

            “I cannot speak to Dorian’s cultural experiences. I was a Soporati. My father eked out a life as tailor before he was forced into slavery. We lived in different worlds and I don't think we see eye to eye on much about the Imperium. But I think Dorian would agree that on the whole, Tevinter is not a place inclined toward tolerance for differences. Certain kinds of dreams can get you killed. It makes you careful. Not everyone has The Iron Bull to rescue them from certain execution. ”

            Daylen paused in his work.

            “I deserted from the Imperial Army,” Krem said in response to the unasked question. “After they took issue with certain parts of my registration forms.”

            “That’s how you met Bull?”

            Krem nodded. “That’s how he lost the eye actually. Nasty encounter with a flail.”

            “That’s…something.” Daylen had always assumed Bull had lost an eye trying to take on a dragon or some other dangerous creature. He turned back to the bouquet unsure what to say.

            “Point is, Bull hired me and the Chargers helped me through. I’ve made a good life for myself here. People help, but there were things I had to figure out on my own.”

            Daylen finished tying the bouquet with a flower stem. “You’ll want to secure this better with a bit of twine or ribbon.” He held it out to Krem. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

            Krem accepted the flowers. “And thank you for this. Be patient, Inquisitor. Not all of us move at the warp speed of the Inquisition.”

           


	18. In Which Dorian Is Caught

            Dorian parted with an absurd amount of coin to get the barkeep to hand over a whole bottle of whiskey. He retreated to a corner of the tavern. Across the room Varric had joined Iron Bull and the Chargers in a rowdy drinking game. They waved him over, but he ignored them. He had no intention of wasting time on idle chatter before drinking himself into oblivion. Sera dropped into a seat next to him.

            "Go bother someone else. I'm not sharing." He hadn't even remembered to bring over anything to drink from. _Well, when among barbarians._ He took a gulp straight from the bottle.

            "Rude," Sera concluded. Then ignoring his objections pulled the bottle away from him and took a sip. "Never learned to share?"

            "That's right. Run along and bother Varric or Bull." He didn't have the energy to bicker back and forth with her. The best possible conclusion to this night involved forgetting why he’d started drinking.           

            "No."

            He sighed. "What do you want?"

            "Nuthin'. You're sad. I'm sitting here."

            "I am _not_ sad."

            He was definitely not sad. That would mean that he’d let himself trust and gotten hurt. No, he was definitely just angry. Possibly at himself, because there were only so many times you could allow yourself to be hoodwinked before you could only blame yourself for gullibility. He knew better than to trust someone else to care for his wishes or feelings. He was angry and he definitely didn't regret his words back in Val Royeaux. If Daylen insisted on pretending he wanted to know him, then he was happy to oblige. Here he was, in all his glory.  

            "Can't fool me. You get all pointy when you're sad."

            “Pointy?"

            "Like a hedgehog," Sera said. "All curled up with your spikes out."

            "You should leave that kind of introspective nonsense to Cole."

            He took the bottle back from her. Ignoring her would have been better. If he’d stuck to that in the first place she would have gotten bored and left by now. Next, she’d be calling Cole over to tell him that his insides were all boiling in knots or whatever other nonsense.

            "Introwhatsis?"

            "Your deplorable vocabulary is another reason you should go join the rest of the plebeians."

            Sera rolled her eyes. "You're being an arse.”

            “This ass is the marvel of all Thedas.”

            Truly, being an ass was one of specialties. Considering all the debts he’d incurred over the years he’d expected to develop a measure of grace in accepting help. That skill still escaped him. Instead he’d nurtured a mastery for burning bridges.

            “So, what happened?”

            That was a very good question. It wasn’t just that Daylen had disregarded his request and tricked him into a meeting with Ponchard. It was the knowledge that rumors about them had spread so far. Once people got word of what Ponchard had done they would conclude that they’d been right to assume he was manipulating Daylen. Even worse, they would admire him for it. He’d win the approval of many in his homeland for all the wrong reasons. It wouldn’t be long before someone else tried to gain an advantage by the same means as Ponchard. It would turn things between him and Daylen into something unspeakably ugly. He would become a liability. Problems like that were exactly the reason you were supposed to go in a dark corner with a practical stranger. The longer you danced around someone the greater the odds that people would notice and take advantage.

           Sera elbowed him for a response.

           "Nothing important."

            She grinned. “I know what'll help. Wanna come up with new names for him?”

            “What?”

            “Herald of Assery.”

            “No.”

            Of course, he’d be sitting here trying to forget everything and end up sharing a bottle with someone who’d only remind him of Daylen’s absurd sense of humor.

            “Idiotquistor!”

            “I beg you to stop.”

            What was happening to him? He was yelling in the streets like a cliché out of one of Varric’s terrible novels. He’d reached for the worst accusations he could conjure up on the spot and hurled them like a blast of fire. That outburst had to be enough for Daylen to stop seeking him out and putting foolish thoughts in his head.

            Sera sighed. “You’re no fun.”

            He pushed the bottle toward her in response.

            “That tastes like horse piss. I’ve got honey wine upstairs. I’ll get it.” She got up and climbed the stairs, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

            The tavern was still bustling with people. He looked around, accidently making eye contact with a young scout sitting on the opposite end of the room. The man gave him a small smile and held his gaze for a few seconds longer than one would in a display of casual curiosity.  Dorian put the bottle to his lips again and watched him approach.

            “I’ve been waiting for months to catch you alone, gorgeous.”          

            It was a tired line. He swallowed a snort along with his whiskey. This might be exactly what he’d needed all along. Too much time with only his own hand and an overactive imagination for company had encouraged a dangerous line of thinking. This would cure him of absurd longings.

            “You’ve caught me.”

            The scout took the bottle from him and their fingers met briefly. He watched the man cringe at the taste of cheap whiskey. _Kaffas, do men that young really work as scouts?_ Now that they were closer he could see the age difference between them.

            “Terrible swill, isn’t it?”

            “I can think of something else I’d rather swallow.”

            Dorian couldn’t help burying his face in his hands. It would have been better if he’d led the man out behind the tavern right away so they could get on with the screwing and avoid this tortured exchange. To think he’d somehow put up with variations of this for years.

            “Need something?” Sera had returned, bottle in hand.

            “Uh-” The scout chewed at his lip and turned to Dorian. “Are we…?”

            Dorian hesitated. If he didn’t take this chance he might not have another for who knew how long. Skyhold wasn’t exactly brimming with attractive strangers propositioning him. But all of a sudden he had doubts about his ability to get off on an encounter with anyone who could use such awful lines without the slightest hint of irony. Not to mention that the generous amount of whiskey he’d already imbibed might prove an awkward interference in finding any kind of satisfaction. He was saved from having to come up with a reply by Sera sitting down next to him, effectively blocking him in.

            “Piss off.” She set the honey wine on the table. “This is a private party.”

            The scout glanced back at him, when Dorian only shrugged in response he frowned. “Did I… misunderstand?”

            Dorian couldn’t believe this conversation was still going on. “The only misunderstanding here is your deplorable attempt at seduction.”

            The scout turned red, mumbled something, and then without further explanation rushed out of the tavern knocking into one of the soldiers on his way out.

            “Aww. Shite, magey pants. Take it easy.”

            “I should take it easy? You told him to piss off,” Dorian pointed out.

            Sera smacked his shoulder with surprising force. “For his own good. He’s a friggin’ kid. Sits about watching you all dreamy eyed. He’s green, don’t mean you gotta piss all over him.”

            He stared at her stunned. “What do you mean he _watches_ me? I’ve never even seen him before!”

            “Course not. Too busy pretending you’re not watching a certain someone. Don’t go screwing with his head. Bad enough you’re all mixed up.”

            _Wonderful_. Apparently he could add kicking innocent bystanders to his list of accomplishments for the day. Now, he definitely felt guilty. If he hadn’t been absorbed in thinking about himself he might have recognized the telltale marks of inexperience. He couldn’t deny that his early attempts at finding willing men had been equally clumsy. He’d been on the other side of this scene a few times. It had been awful.  

_You’re a right catch Pavus. Maybe you can find a kitten to step on before the night is through._

"Perhaps your bottle will set me straight.” He snickered at his own little joke.

            Sera shook her head in disgust. “Waste to open the wine now. You’ll end up forgetting everything after you finish the shite you call whiskey.”

            Much to his disappointment that prediction proved false. He woke up on the floor of Sera’s room around noon, with a pounding headache and a perfect recollection of everything, including a knee bruising stumble up the staircase at the end of the night. He sat up and faced himself in Sera’s mirror. There was a coal mustache on his forehead.


	19. In Which Daylen Gets Compliments

          Daylen woke up early in the morning, groggy from a lack of sleep. He got dressed, picked up the amulet, gathered his courage, and made his way to Dorian’s room. When he knocked there was no response, so he went to the library. It was deserted except for Helisma who was sorting claws and bits of bone at her research table.

          “Morning. Have you seen Dorian?”

          She paused in her work. “I have not seen him today, Inquisitor. Do you require assistance?”       

          He sighed and gave her a smile. “Not unless you’ve discovered something new about making apologies.”

          “I remember that apologies can bring turbulence to emotions. But my research does not have the possibility of bringing about discoveries about them. Can I assist in some other way?”

          “Do you like nugs?”

          “When I was a child my mother would tell me stories about a Nug King. They brought me much joy.”

          “Right…Great.” Sometimes Helisma reminded him of Cole. Her logical responses could throw him off as much as Cole’s disjointed ramblings. “I bought two nugs in Val Royeaux. Do you think they would like the library? I thought you might keep an eye on them when I’m away from Skyhold.”

          Helisma nodded. “Nugs like the quiet and require little care. I can care for them. They would not interfere in my research, Inquisitor.”

          “Great. I’ll bring them by later today.”

          Daylen hoped that the nugs would take a liking to Helisma. As far as he knew scholars were in undisputed agreement that the tranquil couldn’t experience emotion. He didn’t think it an adequate reason to ignore their presence in the way most people seemed to. It took time to get used to that uncanny blank expression, but if you could form a friendship with someone like Cole he didn’t see why the same couldn’t be true of Helisma. It required an adjustment of expectations for almost every interaction, but he refused to believe it was impossible.

          Dorian probably hadn’t left the tavern last night. With time to kill and no meetings to attend he went to seek out Vivienne. The ball at the Winter Palace was approaching and he had to be ready. He hadn’t had a chance to ask her for advice yet. Daylen was fairly certain he could get through the formalities without much trouble. But when it came to playing the Game he’d be well out of his depth.

           She was sitting in the little passageway she so favored, an alchemy book in hand. He had to admit that the area looked nice. Somehow she’d arranged an assortment of furniture from Skyhold that didn’t look absurd.

           “Up and about already, dear?”

           “An Inquisitor’s work is never done. Do you have a moment? I thought we could speak about Halamshiral.”

            Vivienne smiled and indicated a chair across from herself. “Do sit. I assume you returned from Val Royeaux with a suitable outfit for the occasion?”

            How like Vivienne to concern herself with outfits first and assassinations second. “Dorian called it serviceable. I assume you’ll share his views. ”

            “He does possess an understanding of fashion rare in these parts. Were he to dedicate himself, he’d make an excellent player in the Game.”

            “I doubt there’s much Dorian doesn’t excel at when he dedicates himself.”

            She set her book aside with a laugh. “Darling, do bring that silver tongue of yours to Halamshiral. It will serve you well.”

            It was the closest he’d ever come to receiving a compliment from her. “I’ll do my best. I can’t say I have much experience with Orlesian politics.”

            “The Game is a subtle dance. You cannot learn it by speaking of it. You must step out onto the dancefloor. The Winter Palace will have an excellent one. All of the best players will be in attendance.”

            “That’s exactly what worries me.”

            “Worrying may give you wrinkles, but it will not help you.”

            An undeniable truth. He searched for a topic of conversation. They didn't have much in common. “I didn’t know you had an interest in alchemy.”

            Vivienne picked up the book and examined it as if she were seeing it for the first time. “Why would you? I have a great many interests which are of no concern to the Inquisition.”

            “I didn’t mean to offend.”

            “First rule of the Game, dear. Never admit to such a thing. But I am not offended. In fact, once we have returned from the Winter Palace perhaps you could assist me in an important task.”

            “I’m all ears.”

            “There is an alchemical formula that I must complete, but I have been unable to obtain a critical ingredient. The heart of a snowy wyvern.”

            Daylen raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t wyverns hunted in Orlais? There must be plenty of hunters willing to sell one for the right price.”

            “This beast is not hunted for sport as other wyverns sometimes are, it is far more deadly. They’re quite rare and exceedingly dangerous. Their venom is the most potent of any wyvern. Ordinary hunters would not make the attempt, the risk is too great. You my dear, would certainly be an equal to this monster. In the past, chevaliers have been dispatched to either kill the creatures or drive them away from villages. Since my chevaliers have fallen too political conflict, I find myself in need of someone with a martial aptitude.”

            Another compliment in the span of one conversation. Daylen thought he might faint with the shock of it. Although was it really a compliment if he'd been asked to help because everyone else on the list had died? “What does this formula do?”

            Vivienne glanced out the window. “It is a special request from a member of the Council of Heralds. I am still the Imperial Court Enchanter, after all. The matter is private. That is all there is to say. It is hardly proper for me to blab the secrets of those who put trust in my discretion. I would do no less for you, after all.”

            He tried and failed to come up with any secrets of his that Vivienne might be keeping to herself instead of blabbing to others. Being Inquisitor didn’t really leave him with all that much privacy and he’d never done anything exciting enough prior to the Conclave to warrant secrecy. Maybe it was more of a hypothetical point.

            “I’ll do what I can.”

            “Thank you, my dear. I would be most grateful. I shall have the location of its lair by the time we return. I must have its heart, or the potion will not work.”

            “It’s a shame we won’t have time to take this on before the ball. You could take the heart and I could bring the head to impress everyone with my hunting prowess.”

            “Darling, bragging about hunting exploits is passé. Now, leave me to my reading.”

            Spending time with Vivienne was always a refreshing change of pace. None of the others would have dismissed him in such a manner, as if he were a mildly amusing jester who’d wandered into a court by accident. Which at times was an accurate description of his feelings towards the role of Inquisitor. It was good to be reminded that despite the power granted to him by the Inquisition, there were plenty of bigger fish in the pond. 

            It was well into the afternoon before he went to the library again. This time Dorian was there, hunched over at his desk, jotting notes on a scrap of parchment. If he was nursing a hangover it didn't show.

            Daylen pulled the amulet out of his pocket and set it on the edge of the desk, a peace offering. “Here it is.” _And here we are._

            Dorian looked at the amulet for so long that Daylen almost snatched it back to break the tension. Then with a decisive move Dorian picked it up.

            “Now I’m indebted to you. I never wanted this, I told you."

            “What happened in Val Royeaux…What I did wasn’t right. But how can you think that of me? I didn't do this so you would be indebted to me. I did it for you. It’s a gift. Misguided as it might be, it doesn't come with strings."

            "That’s the problem."

            “I don’t understand. How is that a problem?”

            Dorian set the amulet back on the desk, stood up, and ran a hand through his hair. Daylen knew it was a gesture reserved for moments of extreme agitation. He prepared himself for another outburst of anger, but when Dorian spoke his voice was barely a whisper. 

            "Someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It'd be foolish not to. He can open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power. That's what they'll say. I'm the magister who's using you."

            All of it led back to being Inquisitor. It wasn’t enough that the stupid glowing mark had nearly killed him back in Haven, now it had to hurt others as well. If he were just some regular soldier no one would think or say such things about Dorian, _to_ Dorian. Rumors followed anyone who got close to him, but he suspected that gossip about the Tevinter attracted the most attention. Dorian couldn’t even walk around Skyhold with being accosted by Mother Giselle and who knew how many others. If he wasn't the Inquisitor, Ponchard might not have declined to accept Dorian’s coin in exchange for the birthright. But he couldn’t change any of that and if he was a regular soldier chances were they would have never met.

            "Blight take what they say. You’re not a magister and you’re not using anyone. Who are these mysterious they? _They_ don't know you."

            Dorian gave him a tremulous smile. "I don't care what they think about me. I care what they think about…us _._ ”

            His heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t what we think about each other more important?”

            “Yes, well.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I can imagine what you think of me after yesterday's display in Val Royeaux.”

            Daylen winced. _Display._ He’d never paid the word any attention until the meeting with Dorian’s father. Now it twisted everything within him. An ordinary word turned cruel by its context.

            “Please, don’t speak about yourself in that way. I don’t think such things about you, or anyone else. It pains me to hear that you think I do.”

            Dorian’s expression softened. “I shouldn’t have said those things yesterday. I was an ass.”

            “That makes two of us. I should have told you that Ponchard wanted to meet with me. And I shouldn’t have interfered against your wishes. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”     

            “Thank you for saying that.” Dorian picked up the amulet again. “And for this. It must seem silly, but I’ve missed it. It’s good to have it back.”

            He had thought the birthright a strange thing to evoke as much emotion, but now that he saw it returned he knew he’d been wrong. He still wasn’t sure he really grasped the meaning of the object. But he could read its significance in the way Dorian clutched it, as if it might slip out of his grasp again at any minute. Almost everyone had something like that. A thing that held a value far beyond the material. Varric had a crossbow. Cole never parted with his hat. Even Solas, immune to interest in worldly things, never took off his strange pendant.

            “We all have things we hold dear. It’s not silly.”

            “I'm going to stop before I say something syrupy, but I won't forget this...and I _will_ repay you. Count on it."

            Dorian stepped forward and kissed him. He could feel the birthright digging into him, crushed between Dorian’s hand and the back of his neck. When the kiss ended neither of them pulled away. He savored the easy comfort of the embrace.

            "You can’t _repay_ a gift,” Daylen whispered.

            "But-"

            Daylen cut him off with a kiss of his own. "Shh. This moment right now? It’s good. Don’t fill it with too many words." 

          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, four chapters on demon hunting. Just kidding, we all know where this is going. Haha


	20. In Which Dorian Eavesdrops

            Strange how he'd never realized that he missed wearing his birthright. Dorian vividly recalled when his father had given it to him. Most families chose to present the amulets at parties full of all of the right people. Instead of that his father had given it to him in private, eyes brimming with tears. They'd spent the rest of the day together in the Magisterium's Library. Access to it was strictly forbidden to anyone other than magisters, but Halward had found a way to sneak him in. At the time he hadn't though it possible to ever feel happier or more proud of himself. All in all, the year that followed had been the best he’d had with his family. It had been before his engagement to Livia, before the fiasco with Rilienus, before it had even occurred to him to worry about a lack of interest in the sketches of scantily clad women that fascinated his peers.

            He hated that he hadn’t been able to get his birthright back himself when he’d given getting it back his every effort. _Kaffas._  He’d even given up on buying wines that didn’t taste like piss. It stung his pride that Daylen had managed to have it returned without the slightest hint of effort or sacrifice. On seeing the amulet his resolve to never find himself indebted to Daylen had melted away and he’d gone against every instinct and accepted it. Then he’d kissed Daylen in the library, without even checking to make sure no one was around to see. If the Inquisitor were a mage he’d have accused him of casting a spell to addle his mind. But did the rumors matter? Daylen obviously didn’t care about what anyone else said.

            He sat in the garden on one of the few benches where he could go unobserved by Mother Giselle or the increasing number of officials and nobles who visited Skyhold. He’d gone outside in hope of clearing his head. He had to come up with something he could do for Daylen. No matter talk about the birthright being a gift. Dorian couldn’t let this go as if it were nothing. Footsteps on the other side of hedges drew his attention.

            “…what you mean.” Dorian's lips curled into a smile of their own accord at the sound of Daylen’s voice.

            “I’ve hear about it.” This from an unmistakable Cassandra. “Your sneaking around doesn’t fool me. Such diversions are beneath you, Inquisitor.”

            He blinked. Were they discussing what he thought?

            “I wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking around. If I didn’t know better I would say you’re jealous of the time we spend together.”

            “It’s a distraction from your true work!”

            “It’s just a bit of fun. We’ll be done with it soon enough.”

            Their voices drifted too far away for him to hear Cassandra’s reply. Dorian felt his heart sink. This was just a bit of fun. A pleasant diversion. Important people needed calm ports in the storm. Why should rumors about that matter? Even Tevinter accepted that much. All of a sudden he knew how to repay Daylen. This thing between them, it had to end, and he would have to do it. Any longer and he wouldn’t be able to give Daylen what he wanted and then walk away without becoming overcome by what his mother would have called ‘a fit of dramatics.’

            He spent the remainder of the evening pacing his room, going over the lines in his head. If he’d only have this one time to enjoy it had to go well. The endless buildup between them called for a night that fell nothing short of mind blowing. Sooner than he expected it was dark. He made his way to Daylen’s quarters through dusty roundabout passages. He took a deep breath by his door. He'd done this before. He knew the steps and words. Dorian put on a smile, went inside, and struck a pose at the top of the stairs.

            "So, it's all very nice this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man.”

            Daylen, hunched over the perpetual mess on his desk, looked up, visibly startled. He stared at him with a bewildered expression, a paperweight in one hand, and a handful of pages in the other. _Cretin, you were supposed to knock so you’d have his attention when you made your entrance. No matter._

            “So here is my proposal, we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more primal,” Dorian continued before Daylen could interrupt with some question or comment. “It’ll set tongues wagging, of course. Not that they aren’t already wagging." Maker, he sounded like an actor spewing lines in some very strange play. Hadn’t he just mocked someone for using ridiculous lines?

            Daylen abandoned his search and walked toward him, still looking puzzled. Dorian sauntered behind him to whisper in his ear. When he’d imagined it, the whispering part had been firmly on the side of sexy, but now it seemed to be rapidly sliding into the territory of awkward. He felt ridiculous, but at this point it was too late to change strategies.

            "I suppose it really depends. How bad does the Inquisitor want to be?" _Did I really come up with this?_

            Daylen chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask."

            "I like playing hard to get." _What a lie_.

            Daylen turned his head slightly toward him. "And now?"

            "I'm gotten." _He’ll laugh me out of the room at this rate._

            Instead Daylen turned around with a soft smile and kissed him with a tenderness that ought to have been forbidden. His hands traveled over Dorian's back as the kiss deepened. He pushed thought from his mind and focused on the sensation of being pressed into Daylen. Being held this way never really got old. Almost all of the men he’d been with hadn't wasted time on such things. He snaked a hand toward Daylen’s crotch.

            For some reason this made Daylen laugh. He could feel the puff of breath against his cheek as Daylen pulled back.

            "How do I get you out of this contraption?"

            Dorian returned his hands to his robes and made quick work of the clasps. He knew how to undress just so. The expression to make as he displayed a body that had taken generations of work to create.

            Daylen backed away while discarding his own clothes haphazardly. He beckoned him toward the bed with a finger, a goofy expression spread across his face. “I’ve imagined this moment a couple of times.”

            “And?”

            “You’ve put my imagination to shame. You're stunning.”

            "Of course I am."

            No matter what he did, one of these days he'd wake up with a body that would no longer impress. Then he'd have to resign himself to paying for company any time he craved another man's touch. _How many years do I have left until that day comes? No matter. I probably won't live to see that day._   _Anyway, this is supposed to be fun._ _Just a bit of fun._ He repeated this to himself as he stretched out on the bed. Daylen hoovered over him and kissed him again. He could feel the warmth of his body across the whole of himself. It was perfect. And it was all wrong. Try as he might to prevent it, his mind wandered to the after. Frustrated he reached down to stroke Daylen. He'd done this countless times. Surely he could focus for the one night he'd have. He continued the languid strokes. On his end Daylen seemed intent on making him breathless with kisses. He didn't know how long had passed when Daylen's hand wrapped around his to pull it away.

            "Ahh-" Daylen gasped out. "Keep that up and we'll be done before we've started."

            Had they just started? Where had his mind drifted off to again? Had he just been staring at the ceiling? All of a sudden he became aware that he could feel Daylen’s quickened breathing. A gentle caress against the side of his face. He looked and their eyes met. _Just a bit of fun._

            “Hey there,” Daylen breathed. “Everything okay?”

            “Perfect.”

            “I didn’t know you read minds.”

            _Just a port in the storm._ Daylen trailed kisses across his neck then across the planes of his chest and stomach. One of his hands stroking Dorian. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone’s eyes during sex. And how rare it was to feel so many kisses across his body. It had all been so frantic for years. Meanwhile Daylen was acting as if they had all the time in the world. His thoughts snapped back as he felt a warm tongue flick against him, a forewarning of a mouth the engulfed him a breath later. He wound his hands into the sheets. That always helped him stay quiet. _Just a bit of fun._ Would it be awkward between them after this? _Just a bit of fun._ Maybe Daylen would want more fun. He could do another night of fun. No reason to get dramatic. And all of a sudden he felt the sensation coil in him and realized he'd somehow missed the approach of the end.

            "Uhh-Daylen," he croaked out. "I-"

            Daylen released him from his mouth and started to move up toward his face. "What's that?"

            His control slipped and for a second Dorian lost all thoughts. When he opened his eyes he realized he'd come awkwardly onto Daylen's chest. Daylen was bringing himself to completion with his own hand. Dorian wanted to bury his face under the pillows. Just a bit of fun indeed. Well, after this night it would certainly be over. He'd always prided himself on being exceptional in bed and often out of it. He hadn't experienced anything this humiliating since the early fumbling of his youth. How typical that he would sabotage a chance to be a port for more than one storm.  

            Daylen wiped himself clean with a sheet and rolled away to toss it off the bed. He hated this part. Should he get up and leave now? He felt Daylen shift back on the bed and then, to Dorian’s horror, he tried to make eye contact again. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on Daylen's face. A peck on the tip of his nose startled a breath out of him. He opened his eyes and found himself face to face with a radiant smile. Daylen was grinning down at him as if he'd just experienced the best night of his life.

            Clearly he didn't have much experience if he was pleased with this. He’d never thought to ask how many men Daylen had been with before him. All that talk about lyrium experiments must have been just that, talk.    

           "Remind me, why is it we waited this long?"

            "Something about the crystal grace."

            "Ah yes, stupid plants. I executed a couple stalks just two days ago. That'll show them." Daylen snaked an arm around him and lay back down so that Dorian found himself pulled into a loose embrace, head tucked under Daylen’s chin. "You know, I've just figured it out. That scent of citrus. It’s your hair."

            "It's the soap I use." Really, of all the stupid things he could have said in response. He shifted to rest his cheek more comfortably against Daylen's chest. 

            Daylen kissed the top of his head then slowly ran a hand through his hair, letting it slip through his fingers. He repeated the motion again and again. On occasion the tips of his fingers grazed against Dorians's scalp. And Maker, that was nice. No one had stroked his hair that way since Rilienus. He wrapped an arm around Daylen and closed his eyes. Just a couple more moments. He could feel the slow rise and fall of the Daylen’s chest as he breathed. When a shiver ran through him, more from pleasure than chill, Daylen pulled a blanket over them and continued stroking his hair.   

            He woke up on his side, Daylen's heavy arm thrown over his waist. Sunlight was pouring through the windows. _Kaffas._ He'd fallen asleep. Why did he do this to himself? Everything was so much harder by the light of day. Carefully, he slipped out from under Daylen's arm and ran his hands through his hair hoping to return it to a presentable state. He got up to search for his clothes. He'd tossed most of them by the windows. The buckles on his robes clanked as he started to pick them up. Behind him he heard Daylen stir. He let the clothes drop back to the ground and straightened to look out the window. He put on his best mask.

            "Dorian?" Daylen's voice was gravely with sleep.

            "I like your quarters."

            "Is that so?" The question seemed automatic, as if Daylen wasn't even awake yet.

            He turned with a sly smile."Don't misunderstand. I'm not suggesting we venture into a life of mutual domesticity. I just like your appointments." 

           Daylen sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair was in complete disarray.  "My appointments?"

            "Yes."

            "Come here."

            How could the man possibly want another round after last night? And how had he let himself care this much? To prolong the inevitable would only hurt more. Sometimes it seemed that was where his true talents lay. Always deluding himself into thinking that if he kept walking he’d arrive somewhere new. In the end he only succeeded in flinging himself against an impenetrable barrier like an insect too foolish to know there was no escaping the jar. _Just another bit of fun._        

            Dorian walked toward the bed. "Care to go again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but not that sorry if you were hoping for something more on the steamy side in this chapter. It didn't feel right for the characters. Also, considering Dorian's experience with relationships being only about the physical, I thought it would be interesting to explore a first time with the Inquisitor that's far from fiery.  
>  
> 
> Side note: I had this plotted to the end and then Trespasser happened. Without spoiling anything I’m not sure if I’ll end up extending this fic to cover those events or if this will morph into a series with a part 2 that picks up with Trespasser and then takes things beyond what’s covered in the games. Any thoughts or preferences on this very much welcome lovely readers! :)


	21. In Which Daylen Can’t Be Trusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all for the greater than usual gap between chapters. Updates may be a little slower for a while, but I'm aiming for once a week at minimum.

            Sunlight warmed the side of Daylen’s face. He stretched out searching for Dorian with all of his limbs. When he didn’t find him he opened his eyes, following the clinking sound from the foot of the bed. And there he was, perfect as always, standing in the light pouring through the windows. Dust motes swirled around him and sparkled as if they’d been enchanted.   

            “Dorian?” He’d lure him back into bed if it was the last thing he did.

            “I like your quarters.”

            Daylen grinned. He could get used to waking up to that voice. There was no denying that yesterday had been a bit awkward. Such was the way of things. It took time to discover a lover’s rhythms. It was odd how quiet Dorian had been the whole time. He hadn't even let a loud breath escape him. Up until Dorian had finished he’d been wondering if it was possible he’d somehow forgotten everything he’d learned over the years. And after he'd expected more of Dorian’s quick wit and sarcasm. But not everyone was much for talking he supposed. Maybe it was nerves, the vulnerability of the thing? Just Dorian, guarding his feelings as if he were saving them all for a rainy day. Besides, it had been nice to fall asleep together. Next time would be better and that next time could definitely be right about now.

            “Is that so?” he asked trying to chase the sleep from his voice. He sat up rubbing his eyes. He hoped he looked at least half as put together at Dorian.

            "Don't misunderstand. I'm not suggesting we venture into a life of mutual domesticity. I just like your appointments." Dorian turned to look at him with a smile that didn't fit a lazy morning.

             And just like that he knew something had gone horribly wrong. Appointments were for nobles who wanted things from the Inquisition, for war table meetings, or for visits to the healer. They were not for what he wanted between them.

            “My appointments?” He repeated as if that would prompt the explanation he wanted.

            “Yes.”

            “Come here.”

            “Care to go again?” Dorian walked over to sit next to him with that terrible expression frozen on his face.

            "Dorian, what's going on?"

            "Really, Inquisitor. Do you need an explanation? Don't tell me last night was your first time."

            He always forgot how much it could hurt to feel the sharp edge of Dorian's sarcasm directed at him. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

            "Where- I just-" Dorian fell silent. Something cracked in the mask on his face and he looked down at his feet. "I've come to care for you...More than I should." His voice dropped to a whisper, as if he were admitting a shameful secret.

            That didn’t make any sense. "Meaning?”

            Dorian sighed. "It makes this harder."

            "This what?"

            "Precisely. Where does this go? This thing between us?" Dorian asked looking up. "Do we go about as usual? Do we make a clean break of it? Some excuse could be conjured up for it."

            _This is what it must be like to be hit with an ice spell._ "Is that what you want?"

            "All on me then." Dorian looked down again. "It's been fun."

            How had he waited all this time and still misread the signals? "I see. Well, this was more than _fun_ to me."

            Dorian winced. “Please don’t... There’s no need to drag this out. I already heard you speaking with Cassandra.”

            “Cassandra?”

            “I overheard you in the garden. She’s right. You can’t afford distractions.”

            “I never-“ Then he remembered last night. He _had_ been talking to Cassandra. “Oh. Dorian, I wasn’t talking about _us_. Cassandra’s embarrassed because I’ve been pestering Varric to write another installment of _Swords & Shields_. I’ve been suggesting scenes.”

            Dorian stared back at him.

            "Speechless I see.” _What a mess._

            "I...I expected you'd say something different." Dorian pulled at a loose thread in the blanket next to him. "In Tevinter anything between two men is about pleasure. It's accepted, but taken no further. It’s never more. You would be foolish to hope for more."

            It dawned on Daylen with the force of a whirlwind. He was surprised the realization didn't actually throw him against a wall. This whole time Dorian had expected this to be the end. Thought that this thing between them was just about the physical. And he’d thought it was nothing more than a bit of normal awkwardness. Maker, how could he have missed it? It was horrifying to realize this whole time he’d thought they’d had a perfectly nice night and meanwhile Dorian had been expecting to be discarded like a plaideweave shirt you bought impulsively and then wore once or twice before you came to your senses.

            “I care about you." He rescued the blanket from being picked apart and wrapped it around Dorian’s shoulders. "I don't care if it's foolish. I want more.”       

            Dorian met his gaze. "I feel as if I’m being asked to turn into a unicorn when I've no idea what one even looks like. I've never done this before. Been more I mean."

            _You should hope for so much more._ “You’re a quick study. We'll muddle our way through."

            "What? Just improvise as we go, like with the Inquisition?"

            "Yes, but hopefully with fewer demons.”  

            “That would be nice." His eyes had grown a little more watery than could be explained away by morning bleariness.

            Daylen pressed a kiss to the center of Dorian’s forehead determined to chase away any sadness that had crept into the room. "Don't turn into a unicorn. I'd really miss doing this."

            Dorian chocked on a laugh. "That's what you'd miss? My forehead?"

            "Maybe having you to myself too, because I'm pretty sure if you grew hooves you'd have to move in with Blackwall."

            "Perish the thought."

            He did. There was still time left to bask in sunlight and forget that a misunderstanding had almost pulled them apart. "I already have a new one. It involves being warm and in bed. It’s still what you would call criminally early.”

            “Since when do you dislike early mornings?”

            “Since always,” Daylen admitted. He lay back down on the bed unable to restrain a yawn. When Dorian didn’t follow he tugged on the blanket. “Share that blanket would, you? It’s cold in here.”

            “Maker preserve us. You? Cold?”

            “Don’t be absurd. That part was a lie. It’s boiling in here.”

            Dorian stared at him again. “I don’t understand.”

            Daylen sighed in mock annoyance and nudged him with a foot. “That was me being _suave_. Get back in bed with me.”

            “You need practice.” Dorian joined him with a sheepish look. He lay down next to him so carefully that someone observing from the other end of the room might think he feared waking someone. “No important Inquisition business this morning?”

            “If I say no, I’ll jinx it.” Daylen shifted so that he could snuggle up against Dorian, his eyes drooping closed. Sleep reached out to try and take him and he floated somewhere in between dreams and a reality that felt even more magical.

            “Daylen…”

            “Hmm?”

            "About last night. I promise I'm not normally so…incompetent.”

             Daylen opened his eyes and propped his head up on an elbow. “Incompetent? We had a perfectly nice night.”

             “Exactly. _Nice_. Nice is for the weather.”

             Daylen chuckled. “It was our first time together. I think even with a rift controlling hand around it takes a little more practice than that to get to earth shattering levels.”

            "Not for me."

            "Show off," Daylen huffed. “You’ve never been with anyone who learned a few new tricks along the way?” 

            "I've met few interested in more than a night and even fewer interested in learning much of anything. Rilienous being a minor exception." A twitch of nervousness crossed Dorian's face. "Forgive me. It’s bad form to bring up names like this."

           In truth, it was a comfort to hear that Dorian had been with someone who’d cared to take the time to get to know him better. He’d had a onetime fling in his youth. He didn’t regret it, but he couldn’t imagine a life without prospects for something more. _Anything between two men is about pleasure._ There couldn't be much pleasure to be found in constantly guarding against hoping for more. Those other men had wasted a chance at the pleasure of knowing the extraordinary man he'd somehow managed to find. He put his head on Dorian's chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.  _Fools, all of them, for letting you get away._

            "I like hearing things about your life in Tevinter. You talk about it so rarely.”

            "You're a strange man."

            The words rumbled against his ear. "I have a hand that glows green. It was your first clue," he joked. "But you can tell me things, you know. You hardly ever talk about yourself or what's troubling you."

            "You're always listening to other people's troubles and helping. You hardly need me for that."

            "Dorian, I do those things because I _want_ to do them."

            "You want to listen to nobles bicker over power in Orlais?"

            Daylen snorted. "Alright, I don't want to do all of them. But listening to you is not a chore of being Inquisitor. That’s a part of being more. Telling each other things and listening. I can’t read minds." He slid a hand over Dorian’s chest enjoying the smooth expanse of warm skin. It fascinated him that it could feel as silky as expensive cloth.

             “I can try to read yours… Care to inquist me?”

            “Show off,” Daylen repeated with a grin.

            The accusation proved entirely justified as Dorian shifted his way toward the foot of the bed. He nibbled at his hipbone, his mustache brushing up against the soft skin. It tickled a little, but not in a way that made him want to laugh. The last of his drowsiness retreated against the onslaught of arousal at the prospect of a very interesting morning. Then he felt Dorian's mouth on him. With slow licks and gentle sucks. Then suddenly swallowing the whole of him. Daylen panted with the effort of keeping himself still.  

            "Come-" he felt Dorian engulf him again. A moan escaped him, startling Dorian into coming up for air.

            "Good," Daylen said, still breathing hard. He pulled Dorian back up for a kiss. After the conversation they’d just had he was sure it had been a long time since anyone had lavished attention on Dorian. It inspired him to do some showing off of his own.

            "You realize I wasn't done, yes?"

            “Patience. I’ve already told you. Good things come to those who wait.” Daylen rolled them over so that he could keep Dorian from escaping him. He kissed Dorian’s collarbone, gently grazing it with his teeth. “Emphasis on the coming.”

            “Ah. So this has been your plan all along?”

            Daylen reach down to give him a single languid stoke. “You’ve played right into my hand.”

            Dorian groaned with a mixture of amusement and pleasure.

            He withdrew his hand and instead took his time exploring Dorian’s chest and stomach. He could feel the press of an erection against him and the occasional buck of Dorian's hips as he sought friction. Whenever he felt that he’d pull away and make his way back up for another kiss. It would not be possible to ever get enough of the hunger that passed between them as their tongues met. He repeated this over and over, searching for the spots where a kiss or caress could cause shudders until at last he was rewarded with a whimper.

            "Tease.”

            Daylen rubbed a circle over Dorian’s lower abdomen again. "Such accusations. Do you want to…what is it you said? Inquisit? Or shall I?”

            “You are-” Dorian gasped as Daylen continued circling lower. “The Inquisitor.”

            Daylen chuckled. “I can be more than one thing.”

            “Oh? Tevinter is less…flexible.”

            That was something worthy of further discussion, but it could wait for another time. He was fairly certain it would lead to somewhere that would end up a complete mood killer. Most things related to Tevinter seemed to be that way. He squeezed Dorian’s thighs.

            “There’s oil in the nightstand.”

            Dorian blindly fumbled through the drawer in search of it. With a triumphant look he pulled out a bottle of elfroot potion.

            “Kaffas!” Dorian squirmed out of his grasp so that he could turn around and look in the drawer. “Why do you keep all this junk in here?”

            Daylen took advantage of the distraction and improved access to finally massage an ass he spent far too much time admiring with only his eyes. Judging by the pleased hum this elicited, he wasn’t the only one to thinks so. Dorian abandoned his search and arched into his touch. He enjoyed the unreasonably long time it took Dorian to remember why he’d moved in the first place. When at last he had the oil in his hands he coated a finger and trailed it from tailbone to entrance and on toward the perineum.

            “I’d prefer to see your face.”

            Dorian flopped face first into pillows that muffled his grunt of frustration. He rolled onto his back, his face flushed and hair disheveled to look at Daylen.

            "You ready?"

            “Since the last Age.”

            He added more oil and slipped in a finger as gently as possible. _Maker, he’s quiet._ It was unnerving. He ran his free hand over Dorian’s inner thigh. Still, no reaction.

            "Dorian?"

            "Nghh?”

            "Am I doing a particularly bad job? Or are you just a bit quiet?" He twisted his finger searching for that spot.

            "Just uhh- habit-- I- Ah-A hard one to break," Dorian stuttered out.

            Daylen wrapped a hand around Dorian’s length and grinned. "I'm good at breaking things."

            "Hopefully not every-Ahhh-" The rest of the sentence was swallowed by a moan as Daylen found the spot he'd been searching for and pressed gently. _Sweet victory._ He continued tapping against Dorian’s prostate at an irregular pace, taking satisfaction in the occasional needy whine that escaped Dorian’s control. He added a finger. Teased some more. Eventually added another.

            "Kaffas," Dorian panted. “Enough. I’m ready.”

             He pressed the bottle into Dorian's hand in response and lay back to let him spread the oil. “Care to be on top?”

             Without further encouragement Dorian took him in hand and slowly lowered himself. Daylen groaned at the tightness that enveloped him and let himself dissolve in the thrill of a quick pace. When his hands wandered to stroke Dorian’s cock with still slicked fingers and matching speed, Dorian’s head rolled back with unguarded ecstasy. That was his undoing. A blissful ripple made its way low into his abdomen.

             “Dorian I’m-“

             “Me too.”       

             He came with a guttural cry, only vaguely aware of Dorian following him with a ragged breath. When he could think again they were still tangled up in each other. They lay that way for several minutes regaining their breath. Daylen tried and failed to hold back a laugh.

            Dorian grumbled, his head jostled by the shaking of his chest. "What's so funny?"

            "Just happy." He trailed a lazy pattern on Dorian's back with the tips of his fingers and kissed a shoulder dampened by sweat. He would have liked to stay this way an eternity. Except that his own stomach was conspiring against him. It rumbled with the other variety of hunger.  

            "Dorian?"

            "Hmm?"

            Dorian looked so sleepy that Daylen simply couldn't resist. He poked his side and used his strength to flip him over onto his back. He ran tickling hands over his stomach. Dorian squawked in outrage.

            "Aren't you hungry?"

            "Barbarian!" Dorian choked out over a fit of giggles. He made an unsuccessful attempt to fend him off with a foot.

            _Dorian Pavus giggles. The wonders never end._ Daylen released him. "Go bathe. I’ve got extra towels in the bathroom closet."

            "You’re the one who’s hungry. You should go first.”

            "Not a chance. I don't trust you to behave yourself. You'll distract me again and then I won't have a chance to eat until dinner."

            Dorian sighed dramatically. "You ask so much of me."

            As it turned out, of the two of them, it was Daylen who couldn’t be trusted.

          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t be the only one whose mind went somewhere dirty rather than sweet with the good at breaking things comment. Hehe


	22. In Which Dorian Sits on a Roof

            Dorian looked over Skyhold from the battlements. Despite the unrelenting wind that continued sweeping through the fortress at all hours, he had to admit that the weather had improved. Maybe he was starting to get used to the cold. Or maybe it was that he'd been in an exceptional mood the past few days. It hadn’t all been just a bit of fun. They were something more. When he'd woken up in his own rooms the day after a conversation that had gone so differently from his expectations, he’d thought that he'd somehow dreamed all of it. Then Daylen had shown up at his door to invite him to breakfast and it had all been confirmed. Somehow the impossible had happened. That seemed to happen a lot around Daylen.

            He wanted to shake his old self for having declined the invitation to Halamshiral. It had been too late to change the invitations at the last minute so he'd ended up staying behind while Daylen went off to prevent the assassination of the Empress. With a certainty that surprised him Dorian felt that no matter what happened at the Winter Palace, everything would work out somehow. Daylen would save the day as usual. He refused to entertain thoughts of a different outcome.

            "You're happier now, Dorian."

            Something about Cole had changed after a trip he'd taken with Daylen, Solas, and Varric. He'd come back to Skyhold in a stormy mood and after that people no longer forgot him when he spoke to them. On more than one occasion he'd overheard people trying to puzzle out when 'that nice young lad' had moved into the tavern. Sometimes he'd bump into Cole on the battlements, deep in thought and looking forlorn. It made him seem more confused young man than spirit. Despite the changes, Cole still had the uncanny ability to dip into minds. Though of late he'd gotten better at making sense at least half the time.

            "Is that what that light, tingly feeling is? I suppose you're right.” In truth, his feelings strayed into the territory of giddy.

            "Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. It has to end."

            Dorian smiled. "But it didn't."

            "Now you're smiling! He smiles more too. It's good."

            He found himself smiling again. _Control yourself or you'll end up with laugh lines._  "And what about you, Cole? You seem more present these days. Do you like it?"

            Cole pushed his hat down. "People see me now. They don't forget. Hurts still call to me, but some of them are mine. It's confusing.”

            Dorian could relate. He still wasn’t really sure what being more would mean. He had no experiences with which to compare this (he struggled even to think it) relationship. When he’d been with Rilienus he’d thought that they both longed to name what was between them, but even careless and young as they’d been they’d still known to never speak of it. To ask would have been to cross an unspoken line.

            “He would have said yes.”

            “I…Please don’t do that with this.”

            “He would want you to know.”

            What exactly was he supposed to do with that knowledge? He wasn’t sure if it was a comfort. It had all been a long time ago and he found that thinking of that part of his life no longer hurt as it once had. It would always be there with him, a small twinge of sorrow for what might have been, dulled by time and hope for what could be. He fervently hoped that wherever Rilienus was, he'd found a similar sense of peace with everything that had happened.

            “I’m going to feed the nugs. Would you like to join me?”

            “Quiet. Dry stone. Many feet. Strange humans. The quiet one gives crackers if you rub against her feet. The one who crackles with power is gone? Where did he go? Will he be back?” Cole tilted his head. “I like the one with the furry lip.”

            Dorian choked. “What?”

            “I will stay here. I like watching the ravens fly. They think a lot of interesting things. But the shiny things on your robes distract them. They think more interesting things out here.”

            He shook his head and went to the library before he could hear running commentary on his fashion sense from birds. True to Cole's observation the nugs were eating crumbs off Helisma’s hand.

            “You’ll spoil them rotten.”

            She brushed her hands off. “I was working on venom extraction. They were brushing against my feet. I gave them a cracker.”

            Dorian scooped up the nugs, one in each hand. They were still small enough to comfortably pick up that way. He suspected it wouldn’t be that way for much longer. They were growing quickly, possibly as a result of all the treats they received. He’d caught Leliana and Josephine sneaking them a handful of glowing deep mushrooms last night.

            “I’ll take them out of the library. Can’t have them disrupting important research.”

            “There is plenty of venom stored away already. They are not disrupting research.”

            “You can never have enough venom.”

            He dashed out of the library before Helisma could point out that you really could. Dorian took the nugs with him into one of the rooms that had yet to be cleaned out. It had a functional desk and chair, along with tons of sheet covered furniture that they’d had no need for thus far. He sat on the floor and released them.

            “You can’t just amble around the library and sleep all day. I’ll have to teach you something useful. Perhaps you could learn to fetch things?”

            The nugs squeaked in what he interpreted as agreement. One of them attempted to dig her way under a corner of his robe with the other nudged his hand. He obliged in rubbing her ears. Daylen bemoaned that he could never tell the two of them apart. It was true that so far they were identical in appearance, but their temperaments definitely differed. Given a few moments for observation he could always tell them apart.       

            “Sparkler.”

            Dorian almost jumped out of his skin. “Vishante kaffas! You’ll kill me one of these days, dwarf.”

            Varric grinned unapologetically. “Word has it that you’re a man in love.”

            His heart leapt into his throat in panic.  _Love?_

            “Leliana tells me you’ve been letting the nugs sleep in your room while the Inquisitor is away.”

            _Oh. That._  “The Inquisitor charged me with caring for them. They get cold in the library.”

            “Sure. Sure. You know, nugs are pretty good braised with elfroot.”

            “You’d better not mention that around the Inquisitor.”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric said. He sat down at the desk and pulled a key out of his pocket. “Don’t tell the Seeker about this, but I come here to write.”           

            “You would subject the world to even more of your drivel?” He'd picked up one of the many copies of  _Hard in Hightown_ in the Skyhold library and been unable to finish even the first chapter.  _  
_

            Varric wagged a finger at him as he pulled out a stack of pages. “You’d better not mention _that_ around the Inquisitor. He’s contributed to this one. Comes up with things so sugary they could rot your teeth. But tell me, do your new friends have names yet?”

            “Everyone calls them the nugs.”

            Varric pointed to the one still pawing at Dorian’s robes. “Snuggles.” He looked over at the other one. She’d sat up on her hind legs and was sniffing the air. “Nettle.”

            Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Snuggles I understand. But Nettle?”

            “Like Rashvine Nettle. Resilient and a little prickly. Trust me. I have the eyes of a story teller. It’s a gift.”   

            “Then you should give me a new nickname, seeing as you gave me a moniker five minutes after meeting me.”

            “It still applies.”

            “So, I’m a bit of light you stick in a windowsill to impress passerbys? All flash, no heat?” He considered it. “Hmm, that’s actually pretty clever.”

            “See? Embrace your place in the universe, Sparkler. Preferably, somewhere else. This is my writing spot. Leave Snuggles and Nettle with me. I’ll keep an eye on them. Go visit Buttercup. If you let her have the whole day to herself we’ll have a courtyard full of bees or worse."

            “Very well. But do keep an eye on them. I don’t want to have to explain them going missing to the Inquisitor.” Not to mention that he’d grown quite attached to the wretched creatures himself. They kept his feet warm at night.

            “I’m a dwarf. I know everything there is to know about nugs. They’ll be just fine.”

            Dorian got up and made his way toward the tavern. Of all the friends he'd made with the Inquisition, Sera had to be the most unexpected. When he’d met her he’d dismissed her as a complete nitwit. It had been a miscalculation. He’d never admit it, but he admired her complete disregard of decorum. She was unapologetically herself and had no need for anyone who took issue with that. The attitude seemed to come easy to her, but he suspected it might have come hard earned for an elf among humans. And her deplorable vocabulary aside she had a wit sharp enough to match the points of her arrows. If she’d had the opportunities or interest in formal studies he had no doubt she could easily have become a scholar of great renown.

            Before he could knock on Sera's door something thunked into it from the other side.

            "They've got targets for that outside," he pointed out.

            Sera yanked the door open. "Cullen-wullen won't let me put my sketches of Coryphyspit on them anymore."

            "Care to join me for a drink?"

            She shook her head and opened her window. "You drink too much. Lemme show you something magey pants."

            "I drink too much?" Dorian asked. He stepped into the room that with every day seemed more and more on the verge of overflowing with trinkets. "May I remind you that you spent the last two games of Wicked Grace literally drinking under the table?"

            Sera scrambled out the window. With a certainty that he was about the break his neck he followed her out onto the roof, doing his best not to muss his clothes. If he was going to die, at least he'd go out in style.

            "Blabby blah," Sera said when he'd sat down next to her. "I'm boney. Doesn't take much. You drown on purpose. It's different."

            There was a bit too much truth in that for comfort so instead of responding he looked around. It was a good view. Nothing like the one from Daylen's room, but still nice. It seemed like the sort of place Sera would use to get up to all sorts of trouble.

            "So..."

            "So?"

            Sera elbowed him. "What's it like with him?"

            He'd been expecting the question. He recalled the conversation they'd had in the tavern after he’d argued with Daylen the about his birthright the first time. "Sort of like jousting. Marginally fewer horses and much more cheering." Amazing that Sera had seen it even back then and it had taken him all this time. If he’d listened to her back then he could have saved himself much agonizing.

            "And the sugary looks?"

            "Lots," he said with a laugh.

            She grinned back at him. "Nice."

            "So...why are we sitting out here?"

             "It's nice. Also, I paid Scout Harding to give an important letter to Cully-wully." She pointed to the courtyard where the Commander was leading the usual drills. "It's a dirty letter."

            "Shouldn't you be writing those to Bard Maryden? What is it that she was singing? Ah yes." He cleared his throat. "Sera was never an agreeable girl-"

            Sera smacked his shoulder before he could continue. "I've just gotten to like you. Don't spoil it."

            They sat and waited. Cullen was in the middle of berating one of the soldiers for falling out of formation. He marched back to the front of the group which was when Scout Harding walked past and gave him the letter. Cullen tore it open and scanned it. He flushed bright red all the way to his neck and looked around then shoved it back in its envelope.

            Sera chortled and Dorian couldn't help but join her. Cullen could do with a bit of lightening up. It really was about time someone sent him a dirty letter that wasn’t a jest. "So, what was in this letter?"

            "Shite about keeping his sword well-polished. Bull wrote it."

            "Should've guessed."

             Between Bull's spying and Sera's inventiveness there had been a great deal of pranks around Skyhold. Harritt had spent a whole day wandering Skyhold with a pink mustache and an Orlesian noble had mysteriously lost his footing and tripped into a pile of fresh manure. A couple of days ago he'd found the two of them claiming to be practicing a battle move that looked suspiciously like a piggy back ride with Blackwall cheering them on from the sidelines. He sat up on the roof with Sera as she described a plan for disrupting an upcoming party in Val Royeaux. It had started to get dark by the time he insisted it was too cold to stay out on a roof any longer.

            "Think you'll catch the sniffles?"

            Dorian clambered back into her room. "I do not catch the sniffles."

            "Arse. You could stay in bed all day. Certain someones fluffing your pillows."

            He rolled his eyes. "You do realize that no one's actually sick in a game of healer and patient, yes?"

            "Well, shite! First useful thing you've told me."        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s an outrage to cut out Halamshiral, but I swear there’s a method to the madness!


	23. In Which Daylen Checks Under the Bed

            Just as Daylen was sure that his day couldn't get any better, it did. He'd been thrilled to be back from Halamshiral. He hadn't enjoyed the ball one bit. Being worried about the whole of Orlais plunging into chaos had been a bit too much of a distraction to enjoy the dancing. And much as he loved sneaking into the kitchens during parties, he preferred to do so on the trail of delicious smells rather than servant blood. But the Empress was alive and he’d found another ally. The mysterious Morigan, who would be joining them at Skyhold any day. After he'd succeeded in impressing the nobles of Orlais, Josephine wanted him to attend another ball. One that would help them to secure better trade opportunities for the Inquisition. It just so happened that his uncle would be overseeing the event. He hadn't seen a single member of his family since before the Conclave. It would be nice to see at least one person who'd known him before his hand had started to glow. That Gale happened to be an excellent baker didn't hurt either.

            Not to mention, that the odds of convincing Dorian to dance with him would be so much better if they weren't being watched by the Empress herself. Most of the people at this party would be significantly less influential than those in Orlais. He'd invited the whole of the Inquisition's inner circle to join. If they were going to impress people, they might as well show up in numbers. It was as good a way as any to celebrate putting an end to at least one part of Corypheus's plan. Now, if only he could figure out what was happening to all of the grey wardens. He'd spoken to Blackwall about it at length, but the conversation proved useless.

           He gave up on searching for the report he'd misplaced somewhere on his desk and looked up. Dorian was spread out on the sofa with a book in hand. He watched him flip a page.

            "See something you like?"

            Daylen smiled. It was nice just being alone together. "You know how I love books. Blue covers get me every time. Are you excited for the ball?"

            "I've been to hundreds. I don't see why you're so excited about this one."

            "Well, it's been a while since I've seen my family."

            Dorian closed his book and sat up. "Your family?"

            Maker's breath, in all the excitement he'd completely forgotten to mention that part to Dorian. He hoped the news would be well received. At least it had come up before the ball. After everything that had happened with the birthright he’d promised himself to pay more attention and discuss things with Dorian ahead of time. Much as he wanted to shower Dorian with affection and gifts in front of all of Thedas he knew that would only serve to make him uncomfortable.

            "My uncle's attending. He's the one planning the dinner. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

            “Oh.”

            He walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Dorian. If only there was some spell to get him to stop worrying. His uncle was the most even keeled person he’d ever known. And he didn’t hold much interest in gossip. Daylen was confident that he wouldn’t do anything to make Dorian feel awkward. As a child he’d always looked forward to summers spent visiting Gale.

            “I just made you nervous. Didn’t I?”

            “Family is not exactly my specialty. As you know.”

            Daylen kissed his temple. “You don’t have to do anything special. You just have to bring your glorious self and be my date. My uncle’s the quiet type. I promise he won’t be interrogating you. You won’t have to worry about that until you meet Elaina.”

            “Elaina?”

            “My sister,” Daylen clarified. “If you think Cassandra’s scary when she wants answers…But I’m sure she’d be delighted to tell you all kinds of embarrassing stories about my childhood.”

            Another person he couldn’t wait for Dorian to meet. It was strange to be with someone and not have Elaina know about it. They’d been each other’s confidants for as long as he could remember. He’d have to at least write her a letter about all of this. He knew she’d adore Dorian. Although, he wasn’t sure Dorian was ready to meet the force of nature that was his sister. His uncle would make for a much less terrifying introduction to the family.

            Dorian leaned his head against his shoulder. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I’m sure your uncle will want to spend time with you.”

            “Nonsense,” Daylen said putting an arm around him. “He’ll be busy watching the kitchen like a hawk most of the night. Besides, I want him to meet you. What’s the use of being with someone as gorgeous as you if I can’t even show you off?”

            “It’s always nice to know that I’m the brightest ornament on your arm.”

            “I don’t know about brightest, but definitely the handsomest.”

            Sometimes he wondered if he should desist in this type of banter. It had become a habit between them, but he didn’t like to reinforce suggestions that his interest in Dorian was purely physical. Not that he didn’t spend plenty of time appreciating Dorian’s good looks. They were certainly worthy of all kinds of praise. But so was the rest of him, and that rest was what made this so much more than just a bit of fun.

            “Very well. I’ll go. But if your whole family ends up scandalized, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

            “Scandalized?” Daylen asked. He shifted to push Dorian back on the sofa, pinning his arms above his head. He refused to allow this moment to turn melancholy. “Now that, _arouses_ my curiosity.”

            Dorian huffed. “You’re never serious.”

            “I’m very serious,” Daylen leaned forward and nipped at his nose. “Right now I very seriously want to try to tease some scandalous noises out of a certain mage.”

            Someone pounded on the door. 

            _Typical._ With a groan Daylen released Dorian and sat up. "Who is it?" he yelled.

            "It's Varric. Can I have a word?"

            He waited until Dorian had sat up on the sofa, smoothed out his robes and nodded his approval. "Come on up!"

            Varric emerged, looking a little out of breath from the climb. "Sparkler, imagine finding you up here. Enjoying the views?"

            "Should I give you two a moment alone?"

            "If you don't mind. It'll only take a minute."

            Dorian nodded and headed out of the room with his book in hand.

            "Have you finished _Swords & Shields_?" Daylen asked. He couldn't wait to present a copy of it to Cassandra.

            "Not exactly. This is actually about our little grey warden problem. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I know someone who might be able to help us. A certain someone whose location I may have claimed to be completely unaware of when the Seeker and I had the pleasure of meeting.”

            Daylen stared at him. "You mean the Champion of Kirkwall? If you've known all along where she was, why haven't you mentioned it up until now?"

            Varric sighed. "Because Hawke is like a recipe for gaatlok. That is, not to be trusted at risk of finding yourself in the midst of a plume of toxic fumes. I did Thedas a favor when I kept Cassandra from making her Inquisitor. She's...unbalanced."

            Having read the _Tale of the Champion_ Daylen couldn't help but think that this shouldn't be a surprise. Losing both your siblings to the Blight then finding your mother's head attached to someone else's body would unbalance a Tranquil.

            "I would be the first to say that her involvement with Anders is troubling considering everything that happened. But per your own book she didn't know about his plans."

            "She didn't," Varric said. "None of us did. Problem with my book is that I glossed over a couple of details. Makes for a better read if the hero doesn't stab her own people in the back."

            "Meaning?"

            Varric shifted on his feet looking distinctly pale. "Remember the part where Fenris left?"

            "Sure." Daylen nodded. "They didn't agree on how mages should be treated. But considering she's a mage herself, can you blame her?"

            "I suspect. Mind you, I never was able to confirm this, but- I think he might not have left so much as been handed over. Back to the Magister Danarius... For a bit of coin."

            Daylen regretted eating breakfast. "You can't be serious."

            "I wish I wasn't."

            "Maker's breath." Daylen put his head in his hands. He'd met with his share of unpleasant people, but as far as he knew he hadn't worked with anyone who'd done something as repulsive.

            "Putting that and other things aside. You've sided with the mages and I think that she'd be willing to help us. I can ask her to come to Skyhold."

            If Daylen could think of any other way, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. But they'd been beating their heads against the wall and getting nowhere. They were out of options.

            "Send for her."

            “I’ve written the letter already. I’ll send it right away, Inquisitor.” Varric retreated from the room.

            Daylen shook his head. This was the sort of news that put him in a mood to see the nugs. He went over to the bed and crouched down to search under it. Snuggles and Nettle had taken a liking to hiding under it, then racing out at unexpected moments. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d tripped as a result. Instead of nugs he found a silky bit of cloth. _What is this?_ He pulled it out and burst into laughter. _Oh Dorian._

            “Why are you crawling about on the floor? If you’re look for the nugs, Helisma is-”

            He stood up and shook the cloth in the air in perfect imitation of a maiden with a handkerchief. “Are these your silky underthings?”

            Dorian crossed his arms. “You have a reason to suspect someone else might have left underthings in your bedroom?”

            “Of course not. I’m just confirming my suspicions.”  

            “They are mine…”

            “Do you want them back? Or are they like a token?”

            Dorian made a strangled sound and snatched them out of his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I forgot them here.”

            “Forget to wear your smallclothes frequently, do you?”

            “You can be very distracting.” Dorian shoved them in his pocket and fussed with his robes.

            “Sweet talker.”

            “It won’t happen again.”

            Daylen grinned. “Come over here and show me that magical tingling thing again. I may have been too distracted to properly observe your technique last night.”


	24. In Which Dorian Gets Dizzy

                In Tevinter Dorian had attended countless balls and formal occasions of all sorts. Plenty of them had been nerve-wracking. Some of them had been exciting. This one was both. He’d changed his robes at least five times and combed his hair so many times that his scalp had started to hurt. Logically, he knew he was being absurd. What he wore wouldn’t matter the slightest bit. As long as he didn’t show up spattered in blood he doubted his outfit would make much difference in the impression he’d make on the other guests. He’d be that Tevinter with the Inquisition. He smoothed his robes for at least the hundredth time. Earlier in the day he’d backed out of appearing officially as Daylen’s date. After years of sneaking around in corners the thought of announcing their relationship to a public hungry for any scrap of information about the Inquisitor unnerved him. Not to mention that he wasn’t entirely sure that this uncle would be pleased to meet him. He had a lot of experience with making first impressions, bad ones. There were enough problems for Daylen to deal with without adding outraged family members to the mix.

                Daylen had agreed without complaint and was now sitting across from him in the carriage, perfectly behaved and chatting with Cassandra. She’d taken Dorian’s suggestion and put on a blue scarf to go with her outfit. Sera was next to him wearing a misshapen flower covered hat and a dress that looked like something she might have made herself out of spare bits of cloth. Plaidweave made up a generous portion of the skirts. He was sure that Josephine had ordered something different for her to wear.

                When they arrived at the estate he found himself pulled into the usual flurry of greetings and introductions. Once upon a time he’d entertained himself at such events by drinking copious amounts of wine and searching the crowd for a face he recognized from rumors. Now that he wasn’t interested in pursuing that option he found himself at a loss as to what he should do with himself. Cole appeared at his side and Dorian settled upon explaining various things to him. Cole had been convinced to put on a more formal outfit, but had refused to part with his hat. Fortunately, he'd come equipped with an endless list of questions.

                "Shoes pinching. Step right then left, no forward then left. She will not speak to me. They will notice... There are so many voices here. Why do people wear uncomfortable shoes?"

                “Because they’re fashionable.”

                Sera snorted. “Cause they’re prats.”

                “Don’t you have things to do? Tossing cakes at nobles and putting things in the soup?” It occurred to Dorian that the last thing Sera needed was additional ideas from him. 

                Sera shushed him. “Busy now.”

                “With what?”

                “Broad shoulders. Laugh certain. Teeth flashing. Stocky. Solid. Hair red in a bun and maybe… other places.”

                “Shite. Outta my head. Creepy’s always creepy.”

                Dorian followed Sera’s gaze across the room to where several women were chatting. One of them did have an impressive shock of bright red hair.

                “They are talking about the Inquisitor. The talk bores her,” Cole said.

                “Course it does. Gives me ideas. See you magey pants.” She waggled her fingers at them, then dashed off toward the hallway.

                Dorian shook his head. A sane person wouldn’t have invited Sera to this type of event. She was guaranteed to cause some kind of ruckus. Across the room Daylen was still greeting people. Varric pulled Cole away in the middle of a question about stockings which gave him a chance to wander over toward the refreshments. To his delight a variety of fruit juices was available along with the wine. He’d taken them for granted in Tevinter where they were served often. In the south they were a rare treat. And they were in fluted glasses. He thought he might cry with joy. He’d forgotten how wonderful it felt to drink from something other than a tankard or dusty bottle.

                “Fancy enough for you?” Iron Bull held a plate stacked with a jumble of food. It resembled a saucer in his enormous hand.

                “Serviceable. They’re lacking fountains flowing with alcohol.”    

                Bull scratched at his chest. “Fucking shirts.”

                “Savage.”

                “Vint.”

                Several guests turned to stare at them. Although he couldn’t tell if they were puzzled by the sight of a Tevinter chatting with a Qunari, or annoyed at the hold up in the line. When Bull had piled several more items onto his plate they walked off to the side.

                “Hike up those skirts mage boy. There’s going to be dancing.”

                Dorian rolled his eyes. “For the last time. I’m _not_ wearing skirts.”

                “Don’t mock the sparkle.” Daylen appeared at his side with a grin. “Everyone loves it. Quite a few people have asked about the Inquisition’s tailor. I have to go thank the host again. Make sure you try the tiny cakes.  They’re delicious.”

                And just like that he was off to mingle. For all his complaining Daylen seemed at ease here. Since no seemed to have the courage or interest in approaching him for an introduction he was free to observe him flitting between guests. When Iron Bull wandered away to chat with a serving girl, Cole returned with a whole new list of questions. Other guests never approached, though they cast him plenty of looks, some curious and others bordering on nervous.

                As the band set up, Daylen approached them again. This time accompanied by a wiry man with greying hair and flour dusted clothes. “Dorian, Cole, I’d like you both to meet my uncle, Gale. He’s the one you can thank for the desserts.”

                Dorian cleared his throat nervously and shook Gale’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

                “My pleasure,” Gale said returning the handshake and turning to give one to Cole. “Are you enjoying the cakes?”

                “They taste like…happiness,” Cole said.

                Gale beamed. “Best complement I’ve gotten all night. I hope you’re both ready for the dancing. The musicians will be playing soon. I have to head back to the kitchen, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

                When Gale had left Daylen turned to him. “See? He doesn’t bite. Now, will you let me finally show off my dancing skills? My mother didn’t torture me with lessons my entire youth for nothing.”

                “Wouldn’t that… attract attention?” Dorian asked.

                Daylen shrugged. “I doubt it. Everyone’s going to be dancing with everyone. You’ll see in a moment.”

                And he did see. The music was rather livelier than at the typical Tevinter events he’d attended. Sera and Iron Bull took to the floor with plenty of energy and little rhythm, sending the other dancers scrambling out of their way. Blackwall worked up the nerve to ask Josephine for a dance. Vivienne and Leliana glided around as if they’d been born to the dancefloor. And Krem was swaying with a blushing Arla while Cassandra scowled through a tune with Varric. Daylen gave the first dance to the host’s daughter, who had to stand on his feet on account of being at most eight years old. For the second, he danced a lively jig with some nobleman. After which he danced with a series of noblewomen. Finally, he let himself be led around by Iron Bull, who’s dancing held all the gentleness of his technique on the battlefield, which was to say none at all.

                “Water,” Daylen said, escaping the dance floor. He took Dorian’s drink from him making him jump when their hands met briefly.

                “That’s not water.” _Dorian Pavus drinking apple juice when there’s free wine on hand. If anyone else learns of this I’ll die of shame._

                Daylen drank it anyway then set the glass on a nearby table. “Dance with me. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. Besides, as long as Sera and Bull are out there we couldn’t draw attention to ourselves if we tried.”

                “Very well,” Dorian relented. It was a good point.

                On the dancefloor Daylen took one of his hands in his own and slipped the other around his lower back. He let himself be led through the steps feeling awkward in the unfamiliar beat. Dancing in Tevinter involved making polite conversation with some woman or other. He’d never really enjoyed it. But this was nice. It felt intimate, which was odd considering how many people surrounded them. 

                “You know,” Daylen said with a smile. “If I were a bad man I would say that you’re a little _stiff._ ”

                Dorian couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips. “Imagine my relief that I’m dancing with a perfect gentleman.”

                Daylen spun him around. “But of course. Then again, a gentleman might ask if he couldn’t possibly provide some _relief_ for your condition.”

                He’d stepped right into that one. If it wouldn’t have made his dancing even more awkward he would have kicked himself for creating such an easy opening. With a conscious effort he relaxed into Daylen’s hold. “Do you say such things to all your dance partners?”

                “Only to you. Although some of them have said some shocking things to me.”

                “Find me ten silk scarves and I’ll show you a dance that will really shock you.”

                “Promises, promises. Sneak into my rooms tonight. We can make them out of the bed curtains.”

                “This is why we never get invited anywhere nice.”

                They drifted around the floor surrounded by a blur of other faces. He caught onto the steps of the dance quickly and after that he could focus on Daylen’s smile and the sparkle in his eyes. By all standards they were being completely chaste, but he felt an electric tension between them that could in no way be attributed to nerves.

                The song ended and some woman approached to beg a moment of the Inquisitor’s time.  The next tune was a lively one so he joined into a group dance that involved lots of clapping and going around in circles. He even let Sera drag him into the center of one and spin him around such an absurd amount of times that he felt dizzy by the end of it and had to escape for bit of water.

                He sipped from his glass and watched Daylen chatting away with a flock of women. Daylen said something that sent all of them into fits of giggles. Dorian wondered if any of them were hoping to acquire more than a beneficial trade agreement. Marrying the Inquisitor would be quite the accomplishment. Maybe he would walk across the room and insist that Daylen dance with him again.

                Cole appeared at his side. "Glittering to gloss a hidden hurt. Unlearning not to hope for more. Stumbling steps where the wall used to be."

                “Did you dance?” Dorian asked. He was beginning to learn that the best thing to do when Cole pulled something like that out into the open was to distract him by switching topics.

                “Dancing is hard. You have to listen with your feet as well as your heart.”

                He’d never thought of it that way. “And not poke around in the heads of the other dancers.”

                “That’s a lot to do at once. But there are so many wonderful hats. I can see them better from the balcony! Do you want to look at them with me?”

                “I think I’m fine here.”

                He watched Cole disappear into the crowd and looked around for a familiar face. Before he could find one Daylen joined him with a plate of fruit in hand. He watched with wonder as Daylen crunched on a piece of apple. Some part of him had expected that Daylen would be a little cross with him. He’d spent almost a week planning the evening as a date and talking about introducing him to his uncle. But he hadn’t complained once about Dorian backing out of it at the last minute and now seemed content to simply stand next to him eating the most boring selection of fruit.

                “Thank you.”

                “For what?” Daylen asked over a mouthful of apple.

                “Why for bringing me to this quaint party. I never knew you could host one without at least a duel to liven up the evening."

                Daylen grinned. "You sure you're not Antivan? I hear they're big on duels for honor and such."

                Normally, he'd never let such a suggestion go without a witty retort, but if he didn't say this now he'd lose his nerve. "I know you had something else in mind for tonight. Thank you for... being patient.”

                “My mind is always full of all kinds of things,” Daylen said. “But I’m perfectly happy with tonight. No one’s about to be assassinated. I have a plate of fruit. And I’m here with you. What more could I possibly want?”

                “Something more like that.” Dorian nodded his head toward a corner of the room where Krem had an arm around Arla and was feeding her bits of cake from his plate. No doubt here in the south there were plenty of men who'd jump at a chance to make an appearance as the Inquisitor's date.

                Daylen smiled fondly at the couple. “I’m happy for them. But I don't want that. I want us.”

                Dorian took a gulp of his water to push away the lump that had gathered in his throat. There had to be something he could do to express what he felt. “Come out to the hallway with me. I want to show you something.”


	25. In Which Daylen Does Sera Proud

            Daylen set aside his plate and followed Dorian out into the hallway. This couldn’t be about the dull decor.

            “So, what did you want to show me?”

            Dorian pecked his lips in such a rush that their teeth clicked together. It felt more like getting a tiny punch to the lips and on any other occasion it would have made him cringe. With Dorian it set his heart aflutter. He’d been disappointed when Dorian had changed his mind about being his date. But he’d pushed that aside. What did it matter as long as they were together? If…no, _when_ they both survived defeating Corypheus there would be plenty of time for dancing in public and all sorts of other things. Dorian didn’t ask for much, if what he needed was time Daylen would gladly wait. Dorian stepped back, his expression one of utter horror.

            Daylen spun around, ready to face a dagger wielding assassin. There weren’t any daggers, only Uncle Gale wearing an expression more appropriate for a funeral than a party.

            "Daylen, may I speak with you a moment?"

            A million thoughts ran through his head. Something had to have happened in the family. Was someone sick? Elaina hadn’t mentioned anything in her last letter, but he hadn’t heard from her in a while.

            “What’s wrong?”

            Gale turned his gaze to Dorian. "Young man, kindly give me a moment with my nephew. There were a couple ladies asking after you in the ballroom."

            Daylen’s stomach lurched. You didn’t need privacy for good news. He looked over at Dorian who twitched his fingers in a way that had become a signal between them for use on the many occasions when a conversation threatened to turn to a battle. He knew that if he nodded it would be taken as a sign of trouble and that Dorian would stay at his side ready to blast his uncle half way across the room or perhaps set him on fire. A touching, but completely unnecessary gestured.

            “Go on. Don’t keep the adoring crowds waiting. I’ll catch up with you in a little while.”    

            Dorian hesitated a moment then with a final glance at Gale retreated. There was a brief burst of lively music when he opened the doors to the ballroom and then the silence returned as they swung shut behind him.

            “What’s wrong?” Daylen prompted.

            “That man…”

            He felt an intense wave of relief wash over him, he wasn’t about to find out that someone had died.  Annoyance followed his relief. Considering the state of Thedas it was irresponsible to use such an ominous interruption for questioning him about his relationships. It wasn't as if his uncle didn't know that he liked men. As a matter of fact, Daylen had once brought Max, his first serious romance, on a family vacation to Gale's estate. His uncle had walked in on them sharing a kiss that was anything but chaste and had with some amusement reminded them that if they didn't emerge soon the strawberry torte he'd made would be gone.

            “His name is Dorian. I introduced you earlier.”

            Gale nodded. “You know I’m not one for gossip. But even I’ve heard the rumors about you and the Tevinter.”

            Daylen sighed in exasperation. Sometimes it seemed that Thedas expended more of its energy on gossiping than anything else. Listening to another set of concerns about the evils of Tevinter magisters was not something he wanted to do now. It had been a perfectly lovely evening up until this moment. Not to mention, he’d promised Dorian this exact situation wouldn’t occur.

            “Entertaining as I’m sure the gossip is, it’s untrue.”

            “He’s a mage.”

            How could he have forgotten to think about that? Uncle Gale’s daughter had been a mage. He’d eagerly awaited Sofia’s visits as a child. Not because he’d enjoyed her company, but because they meant that Elaina was released from babysitting duties and he was free to get up to all kinds of mischief. One day he’d run into Elaina’s room to find her crying over a doll Sofia had left behind on a visit. It was the day they both found out that their cousin had been sent away to the Ostwick Circle. No one spoke of her after that. He’d learned that she hadn’t survived her Harrowing through a single sentence tacked onto the end of a letter.

            “Yes.” He wasn’t sure what else he should say. Uncle Gale had never spoken to him about his views on mages.

            "I've heard that he came here under difficult circumstances."

            “And you think he’s here for my wealth and power?”

            “That’s not-“ Gale shifted on his feet. "You must know how people think about Tevinters here. If he left the Inquisition it wouldn’t be long until some of the rogue templars found him and… The mages here would never take him in as one of their own. You're in a position of extreme power as the Inquisitor and he's...vulnerable.”

            Daylen stared. “Your point being?”

            “He’s not in a position to deter your…advances.”

            He realized he'd gotten it all backward. His uncle wasn't concerned that an evil Tevinter was manipulating him. Instead he feared the exact opposite. If the suggestion weren't so horrible he would have found it funny. While everyone else was worried that he was under Dorian's undue influence, his uncle was worried about the exact opposite.

            "Maker's breath, Uncle Gale. How could you think such a thing about me?"

            Gale cringed. “I’m sorry to even suggest it. But this isn’t about your intentions. It’s about the realities. There’s a reason relationships between mages and templars were banned at the Circles.”

            “I’m not a templar.” And speaking of that, eventually he'd have to tell his family that he had no intention of ever completing his training. 

            “It doesn’t change that many look to you to give them guidance in dealing with mages, now that the Circles are gone. The foolishness about blood magic will die down soon enough. Intended or not it sends a message that you do not acknowledge him outside of dark corners. What do you think people will assume about the nature of your relationship?”

            Daylen shook his head in exasperation. There really was no winning when it came to their relationship and public scrutiny. “He doesn’t only interest me in dark corners. That’s not what this is.”

            “He didn’t come as your date.”

            _He didn’t want to._ Daylen groaned in frustration. Saying that would do nothing to help his case. “Dorian is...he likes privacy.” That oversimplification would have to make do as an explanation.

            Gale gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s strange hearing about everything you’ve been doing. Even stranger seeing you as the Inquisitor. ”

            Daylen couldn’t imagine what it had to be like for his uncle to see others call him Inquisitor. Gale had been around to rescue him out of trees, to scold him for sneaking cookies from the kitchens, and to see Elaina defeat him at sparring. All things considered, he was taking it well.

            “I’m still me.”

            They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments before Gale pulled him into a hug. "Let's not speak of this anymore. It's good to see you. I’ll tell your parents that you’re doing well."

            “Thanks.” He wondered if they’d believe that.

            Gale let go of him and cleared his throat. “Well, I've got a kitchen to supervise. You’d best get back to the ball."

            Daylen nodded and headed back toward the ballroom. This hadn’t been the comforting reunion he’d been hoping for back in Skyhold. His uncle was one thing, but if his siblings insisted on acting as if they didn't know him when they next met he wouldn't be able to stand it. 

            “Daylen."

            He turned to look back at his uncle.

            "That screen behind the fruit table leads to a balcony.” Gale gave him a small smile. “It’s a good place for privacy."

            Just like that, he felt better. Daylen stepped into the ballroom and scanned the room for Dorian. He spotted him in the corner of the room speaking with Varric, a concerned expression on his face. _Silly man never stops worrying._ He approached them.

            "Inquisitor, Sparkler looks ready to burst into flames. I'd very much like to hear all the details of what just occurred, but he refuses to tell me a thing."

            Dorian responded with an annoyed scowl.

            "Everything is fine. Dorian, you haven't sampled from the fruit platter yet. We should head over before everything good is gone."

            "Fruit platter?" Dorian asked. "I- Alright."

            The band struck up another popular tune and they weaved their way through the groups of dancers making their way to the floor. The area with the refreshments was almost deserted. Daylen picked up a plate and place fruit on it at random, then slipped around the table and slid aside the screen door. He beckoned to Dorian.

            He could see why the balcony hadn't been opened up for the guests. The trees from the garden below had encroached on it so that there wasn't much of a view. The smell of flowers from the gardens below drifted up and as promised, the balcony was empty and shielded from view. Music drifted out past the screen.

            Dorian looked around puzzled then turned his attention to him. "Are you alright? What did you uncle say? I shouldn't have kiss-"

            Amused at the speed with which the words tumbled from Dorian's lips he picked a strawberry from his plate and with timing that would have done Sera proud stuck it in his mouth, silencing the outburst. "Shh. Stop worrying. Everything is fine. I've told you before my family knows I don't care to sneak around alcoves with women. It wasn’t about that."

            An indignant sound escaped Dorian past a mouthful of strawberry. "It's one thing to know," he said when he'd swallowed. "Another to see it on display."

            Daylen took a seat on the cracking stone bench and leaned back against the balustrade. "I assure you my uncle has seen more revealing displays."

            Dorian raised an eyebrow and took a seat next to him.

            "A story for another time. I need to tell you something.”

            Daylen set aside the plate. The conversation with his uncle had sobered him. He never had thought to mention to Dorian that he could walk away at any point if he changed his mind and continue on with the Inquisition. It had seemed obvious, but considering all the misunderstandings that had occurred between them it would plague him constantly if he didn’t say something.

            "What's that?"

            "I want you to know that if you should ever decide that this-" he waved a hand between them. "That you no longer want to be with me. You'd still have a place with the Inquisition. Despite what may be evidence to the contrary, I can be professional. You're a crucial member and I would never do anything to diminish your status just because things didn’t work out between us."

            "Forgive me," Dorian said. "But this isn't some backwards way of telling me that you want to end this, is it?"

            "No! Of course, not." He took one of Dorian's hands his own. "It's just that my uncle expressed concerns for you."

            "About me, you mean."

            "No. _For_ you. He thought I might be using my influence as Inquisitor to push you into something you didn't want."

            Dorian looked stunned. "That's- Absurd-"

            "I certainly hope so. But I had to say it anyway."

            Dorian laughed. "As if you couldn't get dozens of willing men with the bat of an eyelash."

            "Dozens? My attentions have been rather occupied by one in particular."

            "Really? Have I met him?" Dorian teased.

            Daylen pretended to think about it. "I'm not sure. Let's see. When he can, he spends his days with his very handsome nose in a book. He thinks no one notices that he cheats at chess and cards. Sometimes he cheats at both to lose. His eyes light up when he talks about magic. And he’s always worrying about everyone, except himself. Sound like anyone you know?"

            "No," Dorian said, his voice husky. "But has anyone ever told you that you're terribly sappy?"

            "Hmm. I think he likes pretending it bothers him."

            That earned him a kiss, gentle and tasting faintly of strawberries.


	26. In Which Dorian Learns About Widdle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay on this chapter! Hopefully that won't be happening again.

                Dorian tugged a chewed on letter away from Nettle. He didn't understand why Leliana insisted on training the nugs to deliver letters when she already had an army of birds employed for the same task. More importantly, he didn't understand why she insisted on testing her success on his correspondence. He used the chewed on corner to rip open the first one. It was a rather amusing ramble that was part Venatori manifesto, part threat to the Inqusition. He wasn't sure if it was intended to scare him or impress him. With a shrug he gave the letter back to Nettle who returned to chomping on it. It would make more sense to use nugs to infiltrate rooms with secret records in needs of destruction.

                He recognized the handwriting on the other letter. His father wrote with violent, hurried strokes that made his messages look as if they'd been clawed onto the page by a nervous bird. With a growing sense of dread he opened it.

 

_Dorian,_

_There has been much unrest at the Magisterium regarding the Venatori's aspirations. Their message has fanned the fervor among those discontent with what they see as our diminished position in Thedas. It would not surprise me if swarms of eager new recruits arrived soon. Stay on guard._

_With Care,_

_Your Father_

 

                Dorian read the letter twice attempting to discern some hidden meaning from it. Surely his father wouldn't waste time sending him so obvious a warning. But if there was something else he was meant to discover his decryption skills failed him. He shoved it into the library desk that he'd taken over for his use. A response to that useless bit of news could wait. Daylen had decided to take Solas snowy wyvern hunting so he'd been researching red lyrium. There weren't any samples on hand, and he hadn't come up with anything even remotely useful. None of the books in the Skyhold library referred to it. So far his findings could be summed up in one word- bad. Hardly a revelation he could present at the next war table meeting.

                All of it added up to one conclusion. It was about time that he visit Alexius. He prided himself on his intelligence and magical skill, but he doubted he’d ever surpass his former mentor. Inventing an amulet that could influence time itself was the sort of magic talked about only in legends. If anyone could help him find an approach to studying red lyrium it would be Alexius. He'd put off visiting him for far too long.

                Dorian made his way up to the newly renovated mage tower that lacked the bustle he would have expected considering the number of mages at Skyhold. Then again, if he'd spent his entire life trapped in a tower he might be reluctant to voluntarily step back into one as well. Perhaps Daylen hadn't fully considered that when he'd suggested to Fiona that the mages should take over the space.      

                One of the few mages working within the tower informed him that he could find Alexius in a room at the very top. _Of course. More stairs._ When he arrived at the door to the topmost room he was surprised to discover that there wasn't even a single guard by it. With a final swipe of the hand at his sweaty forehead, he went inside.          

                Alexius was sitting at a long, burn scarred table, bent over a sheet of paper with a quill in hand. He didn't look up. "No. I have not finished the notations. The simpletons you call your students require an absurd level of direction. Not that it will help them. Most of them lack the technique to cast even basic spells correctly."

                "Naturally. They lacked you as an instructor."

                He still remembered his first day studying with Alexius. Before they'd started the lesson he'd used a bit of magic to light the fireplace. It made him cringe just to think of the incredulous expression he'd received for his casting technique.

                "Dorian?" Alexius squinted at him.

                "That is still my name."

                "And with your sense of humor intact. Please take a seat. I'd stand up to greet you but-" Here Alexius raised his hands above the desk to reveal clanking chains. "As usual I'm chained to my work."

                He hadn't thought to prepare himself for the sight of his former mentor chained to a desk. Somehow he'd hoped against all reason that everything would be normal again. That he would step into the room and find the old Alexius absorbed in a fascinating bit of research they could discuss together. Dorian pulled up a chair and sat across from him. In search of anything else than staring at the haggard face across from him, he looked down at the spell chart.

                "You've written the second movement in Tevene."

                "Is that why the mighty Inquisitor allowed you to visit me? To supervise my spell charts?"

                Dorian chanced a glance up from the chart. "He never forbid me from visiting you."

                Alexius sighed. "Such honesty. So, why is it that you've decided to grace me with your presence?"

                "I just- I don't know. I wanted to see you." Somehow I need your help with some research to help the Inquisition that’s imprisoned you didn’t seem like a good opener.

                "Touching."

                "What are you planning on doing?" Dorian didn't know what made him ask the question, but it burst out of him as if he'd been thinking of asking it all along.

                "Doing?"

                "When this is over."

                Alexius laughed, his chains clanking in sporadic bursts that were sure to give him nightmares for days to come. "Dying. Along with the rest of the world."

                "We might survive." _True the odds are slim. Still they could be worse. Listen to yourself. They're making an optimist out of you._

"Then I will do as I am ordered. Perhaps the Inquisitor will kill me once I've completed my research project."

                "Daylen wouldn't kill you."

                "Daylen?"

                "It's his name. The Inquisitor's." Dorian felt himself flush like a schoolboy caught passing love notes in class. _Get a grip Pavus. He's seen you in a brothel._

                "I see."

                The finality in the tone with which he said it told Dorian that Alexius really did see, all of it. He'd always had an uncanny ability to see past even his most carefully constructed bravado.

                "I don't expect you to approve. Seeing as..." He waved his hand around the workroom that was undeniably a prison albeit without the bars. Still, he couldn’t help the small part of him that hoped he would. They’d never spoken openly about his preference for male company, but considering the circumstances of their meeting there had hardly been a point. Alexius had never objected to Dorian using his studies as an excuse to delay his marriage to Livia which he'd taken to interpreting as tolerance at the very least. 

                "Your insatiable thirst for approval is exactly why you always end up hanging onto the coattails of a leader who discards you when you no longer fit his goals."

                That assessment stung more than he’d be willing to admit. Possibly because he feared there was truth to it. "And this coming from a follower of Corypheus?"

                "I was not his follower. He was a means to an end."

                "Yes, an end. An end of everything in existence." It still defied the imagination that Alexius could have ever attempted insane experiments with the fabric of time. He missed Felix and knew that the loss of even a dear friend could not compare to the loss of a son, but that the experiments had been done in the name of someone who hadn’t wanted them made the whole thing all the more gruesome. In the glimpse of the future they’d seen, Felix hadn’t looked anything like himself. Dorian didn’t know all that much about the Blight, but he didn’t want to imagine what Corypheus had done to stave off his death. 

                Alexius looked away. “Do you imagine I don’t spend every waking moment thinking about the time I squandered? Felix wanted to go to Qarinus before… He never did get the chance.”

                Dorian pushed back the lump that had gathered in his throat. Felix had loved the beach. “He had the chance to see the bucolic south. Almost better.”

                Alexius barked out a teary laugh. “Dorian, why are you here?”

                “I’m stuck in my research on red lyrium. I thought you might be able to help.”

                “I am up to my neck in spell charts for Fiona. Besides, I doubt there’s much I could figure out that you couldn’t. They’d never allow me to work with a sample anyway.”

                _Ah yes. A sample. Time to move onto the dangerous experimentation. Remember Dorian, your beloved books can only get you so far._ Dorian stood up and looked around the room. “Do you need anything?”

                “As I am Skyhold’s only prisoner I cannot say I lack for anything.”

                “Well then. I will leave you to your charting,” Dorian said. He hesitated for a moment unsure if he should shake hands or maybe attempt a hug and finally settled for a something between a shrug and a nod and left. The door creaked shut behind him and Dorian headed for the tavern. He could do with cheerful company. Perhaps Sera could be convinced to ‘requisition’ one of the better wines from the cellar.

                Barely anyone was at the tavern. Bull had gone along with the Chargers on a mission for the Inquisition. The room looked strange without them in their usual chairs. Even Bard Maryden had disappeared to somewhere. Funny how the lack of a crowd made the place look dim and grimy. 

                Blackwall sat next to Sera in a corner of the tavern his gruff voice carrying through the empty room. “Been meaning to ask about your mage friend.”

                “Sparkle pants?” Sera tossed a peanut into the air and failed to catch it in her mouth.

                “Yes. What do you think he’s still doing here?”

                Sera chortled. “More interesting is who he’s- Sparkle pants! Sit with us.”

                Dorian cursed his luck. He didn’t enjoy Blackwall’s company and avoided the warden as much as possible. He’d been curious about him at first. He’d read about grey wardens and it seemed the perfect opportunity to learn more about them. But for all his rambling about chivalry and honor Blackwall seemed to have only ribald tales of the sorts enjoyed by soldiers and Sera. As far as dark and tortured went he was a terrible disappointment, to say nothing of that unkempt beard.

                “Blackwall, I didn’t know you ever left the stables.”

                “Didn’t know the spoiled prince ever stepped into the tavern.”

                Sera grinned. “Twos of you going at it. People will start to talk.”

                Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh yes. Unkept, smelling of horses, incapable of higher thought. Who could resist?”

                “Some of us work,” Blackwall said. “We don’t have time to waste on arranging out hair with magic.”

                “My dear man, no magic could help with your utter lack of hygiene. And I dare say whittling away at wood is of no comparison to my research on red lyrium.”

                “And how’s that research going?”

                Dorian sat down next to Sera and took a cautious sip from her mug. To his disappointment he found it contained nothing more than some lukewarm tea sweetened with honey. “I find myself at a standstill due to the deplorable lack of resources.”

                Blackwall snorted. “Not enough silks?”

                “You should talk to the dwarf,” Sera said.

                “I’ve already tried that,” Dorian said. “Whenever I ask Varric about it he starts going on about his brother locking him away in the Deep Roads and a singing idol. It’s useless.”

                “Not him.” Sera shoved a handful of peanuts in her mouth. “The widdle one.”

                “They’re all _little._ They’re dwarves. If Harding knew anything she’d have told us by now.”

                “Not her. The _widdle_ one. Dagna.”

                Dorian stared at her, sure that he’d misheard over the chewing noises. _There’s another dwarf at Skyhold? A visiting merchant perhaps?_

“The smooshy one.” Sera said, as if this explained everything.

                “Who?”

                Sera washed away the rest of the peanuts with some of her tea. “Dagna. Makes all kinds of fancy things. Shares a workshop with Harritt. Proper smart. Came up with a way to put a bunch of bees in a round thing. Can throw them at people. Pow!”

 _Fasta vass. Bees. That’s all we need._ It was no wonder he hadn’t met this Dagna. Harritt was about as pleasant as a nest of hornets. He did everything in his power to stay as far away from him as he could. “She knows about lyrium?”

                Sera waggled her eyebrows. “Knows about all kinds of things.”

                Dorian laughed. “Dare l ask?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments. :D


	27. In Which Daylen Ponders Fashion

                Daylen pulled off his soggy socks and set them out on a rock by the fire to dry. So much for exultation in the Exalted Plains. They’d spent the better part of the day circling around a cave in but gotten nowhere. Now they were back to square one, sitting by the pile of rocks that stood between them and the supposed location of the snowy wyvern.

                “Ugh." Cassandra set her sword aside and pulled off her gloves. "Remind me. Why are we here?”

                “Vivienne needs a heart.”

                 “ _That_ is not news,” Solas said, emerging from behind a pile of rubble.

                Daylen restrained a laugh. Solas's humor always caught him by surprise. Most days Daylen though he understood Solas about as much as he understood dragons. He didn't think any of his companions knew him all that much better, with the possible exception of Cole. Solas kept to himself, as if he didn't need or desire the company of others. Yet in moments like this Daylen couldn't help but think that after years of being an apostate and exploring the Fade he longed for some kind of earthly connection.

                Cassandra allowed herself a small smile. “You would not provoke her if you did not enjoy bickering with her.”

                “Bickering implies that I suffer annoyance at her ignorance. I simply accept it as inevitable for her kind.”

                Daylen raised an eyebrow but didn't ask for clarification. As the saying went, let sleeping dragons lie. “We need to get past that pile of rubble.”

                “Might have to get Curly to send out troops. Three of us and Bianca are not enough to move all of that.” Varric set Bianca down on his lap and patted her affectionately.

                “We don’t have that kind of time.” Hawke would be arriving any day and Daylen wanted to be at Skyhold when she did. Much as he tried to help his companions he couldn’t allow this to get in the way of the more important task of stopping Corypheus. He had a feeling finding the grey wardens would get him closer to achieving that goal and Hawke was the key to finding them. It was now or never. “What if I opened up a rift at the center of the collapse and then disrupted it?”

                Solas shook his head. “The anchor is not something to be used lightly, Inquisitor.”

                “I appreciate your concern. Would it work?” Using the anchor left his hand numb for a few minutes after, but it was a small price to pay for its usefulness.

                “If you can open it right at the center, then I believe it would.”

                Daylen nodded. “Good. We’ll do it first thing in the morning. I don’t want to crawl through there in the middle of the night. Who knows what else might be back there.”

                Varric eyed the collapse. “If you’re planning on blasting that then we’d best move all the loose rocks away. When that gravel goes flying it won’t be pretty.”

                Cassandra groaned and pulled her gloves back on. “The tales had better make mention of my tireless efforts at the Inquisitor’s side.”

                “I’ll make sure to write up a whole chapter describing all of your valiant efforts, Seeker. We’ll take the first shift. I’ve been thinking of writing a new series. Thought you could give me your perspective.”

                Daylen nodded his thanks to the both of them. Soon the crackle of the fire was drowned out by the sound of shifting gravel and rocks thrown onto a pile. An occasional disgruntled noise from Cassandra and chuckle from Varric broke the rhythm. 

                “You are not what I expected, Inquisitor.” Solas said.

                “Is that a compliment or a criticism?”

                “Neither. It is a statement of fact. You trained as a templar. I expected that you would seek the help of your own kind in this conflict. Yet you did not. You have allowed mages freedom.”

                The strangest thing about Solas, he decided, was that his tolerance and curiosity for things of the Fade and past did not extend to fellow inhabitants of present day Thedas. “That makes the two of us then. I thought you might spend all your time doing elfy things.”

                “Elfy things? I believe you may be spending too much time in Sera’s company.”

                Daylen shrugged. He hadn’t encountered many elves before the Inquisiton. His training hadn’t taken him to cities where most elves besides the Dalish lived. Tales of Circles and mages had been more popular with templar recruits. “Perhaps you have not spent enough time in hers.”

                “How could I when she scorns the company of her kind? She has no interest in the culture or history of our people.”

                “I don’t think she’d deny that, but she has other interests. If given the chance she might surprise you as well.”

                Solas studied him over leaping flames that sent predatory shadows flickering over his face. “She is the furthest she can get from what she is meant to be.”

                “Meant to be? Isn’t that for her to decide?”

                “It is not something you would understand.”

                Daylen raised his hands in submission. He didn’t intend to quarrel with Solas. Whatever disagreements existed between them he owed him his life. Just thinking about the pain he’d felt when he’d first gotten the mark made him shudder. Not to mention that after the destruction of Haven he’d saved all of them. If Solas hadn’t led them to Skyhold they’d still be wandering the wilderness. It was a wonder more mages didn’t explore the Fade if one could find fortresses by doing so.

                “I can feel magic when I’m near rifts now,” Daylen said to change the subject. “And the Fade. It’s fascinating. Like being able to see new colors or feel a different type of wind. I used to think mages brought things that didn’t belong across from the Fade. But now I’m not so sure. Magic feels…natural.”

                “That is a rare point of view. You have given me much to think about tonight, Inquisitor.”

                Daylen stood up. “Hopefully not enough to keep you up at night. You should get some rest. I’ll need your help with immobilizing the wyvern if we’re to get an undamaged heart.”

                He left Solas by the fire and stepped into his tent where he pulled of his boots and crawled into his bedroll. The tent smelled faintly of citrus from when Dorian had spilled a bottle of shampoo in the tent on their last trip. Daylen grinned at the memory. The sooner they killed the wyvern the sooner he could get back to Dorian. Maybe he’d bring something back for him from the trip. Were wyvern pelt coats fashionable? He’d have to ask Vivienne.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but the next one is longer then usual so I'll say it all evens out. As always thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments!


	28. In Which Dorian Guesses

            Dorian stepped into the undercroft and tried to close the door gently. Anything to avoid having to deal with that ray of sunshine named Harritt. He’d expected that it might be colder in the basement, but he hadn’t expect a blast of freezing wind strong enough rip the door from his grip and slam it closed. There were icicles down here. Icicles! Inside! Dorian allowed himself a moment to mourn the fact that he lived in a building where ice wasn’t a luxury to place in your drink, but a threat of impalement. Hadn’t anyone thought to put in a wall here? You could fly a dragon through an opening that size. Then again considering no one had even gotten around to fixing the missing bit of wall leading to the war room it was probably too much to ask to have an entire one built down here.

            “What do you want?”

            “Ah Harritt. A sight for sore eyes as always.”

            Harritt stared blankly. “I’m not making anything for you. Got a list of orders out the door.”

            “I’m here to see Dagna.”

            Harritt made a disgruntled sound and shuffled back to the other end of the room where he began rearranging, or rather clanging, tools on a worktable.

            An excited yelp followed and then like a demon falling out of a rift a red haired dwarven woman appeared in front of him. “Hello there! You must be Dorian. Sera was telling me all about you. She did say I would know you because of the mustache and she was right. It certainly draws the eye, doesn’t it? Do you use anything with an enchantment on it? Oh I’m sorry. I did forget to introduce myself. I’m Dagna.”

            “Dorian.” It was all he could muster. _I should have known better than to take Sera’s advice on matters of magic. This will be an utter waste of my time. What would a smith know about red lyrium? This girl probably can’t even read. Never mind know about research._

            “Well don’t just stand there slack jawed. Sera says you’re funny. We could use some laughs down here, I’ll tell you that. Not too many visitors here. Lots of soldiers leaving swords that need sharpening, but they’re always in a rush to leave.”

            “I-ah yes well. I was thinking of asking you about lyrium, but I can see that you’re busy-“

            “Oh I’m not busy at all. Not much need for enchantments on regular swords. And the Inquisitor doesn’t like them much. Must be a templar thing. But I _love_ lyrium. Even wrote a book about it. Well, the vapors to be exact.”

            Dorian blinked. “You wrote a book?”

            “Yes. After I studied at the Circle in Ferelden.”

            “But dwarves can’t do magic.” Dorian scrambled to reign in his surprise.

            She gave him a skeptical look, the kind of look that Dorian made when he began to suspect someone might not be the sharpest dagger in the drawer. “Well of course not. Everyone knows _that_. We can’t dream either. Makes me great at studying lyrium and magic. I never need to worry about the demons.”

            “I wouldn’t think they’d be open to accepting a dwarf as a student.”

            “Oh they weren’t. A grey warden helped me. Come on. Let’s sit. Hurts my neck looking up at you like that.” She waved him over toward a corner of the room toward a workbench cluttered with all kinds of unfamiliar instruments. She pulled over a chair to join a raised one with a footstool by it.

            Dorian followed her with dismay. He didn’t relish the idea of sitting right next to a giant opening into the surrounding mountains. “I didn’t realize grey wardens had that kind of authority.”    

            “Oh no. It wasn’t any warden. It was the Hero of Ferelden.”

            He would have been surprised by that. Except he’d just taken a seat in the chair he’d been offered and found that it was warm. The kind of cozy warm that could only be found wrapped in furs by a roaring fireplace.

            “How?” He stood up to examine the series of runes carved into the chair. “Does it stay this way? This warmth must wear on the wood. Does it not risk catching fire?”

            “Not with that enchantment. And it’ll stay that way as long as the runes don’t get worn away.

            Dorian felt something stir in him. It took him a moment to realize that it was envy. It had been a long time since he’d met someone with enviable skill in the field of magic. He sank back in the chair. “I’m impressed.”

            “Of course you are. I’m very good. Always makes mages bonkers that they can’t enchant things like I do,” Dagna said cheerfully.

            Dorian grinned. Meeting someone who shared his enthusiasm for magical research was a rare treat. Even better, that someone had a justifiable confidence in her own skills. “Have you heard about red lyrium?”

            “Sure.”

            “I haven’t been able to find any mention of it in books. Do you have anything I could borrow?”

            “Not a thing. But I’ve heard the stories. If you bring back a piece to Skyhold I can study it properly. You could help. A mage’s perspective is crucial to proper magical research. ”

            “It’s not exactly safe to transport.” That had been the main reason he hadn’t attempted any research yet. It only took one encounter with someone sprouting lyrium out of the side of their face to figure out it was a bad idea to get near it.

            “I’ve got some instruments and a box you could use.”

            She slid off the chair and rummaged around in a desk drawer before pulling out a dark box which she handed to him. It was surprisingly heavy. He turned it in his hands and ran a finger over the rows upon rows of minuscule runes that covered it. A clang that shook the walls startled him. The box slipped out of his hands and hit the ground with an even louder thud.

            “Widdle!”

            Dorian picked up the box. It had chipped a hole in the stone floor. _Sweet Maker. I could have lost a foot. A fine help I’d be to the Inquisition then._ When he looked up Sera was sitting on the arm of Dagna’s chair.

            “So, you’ve met magey pants.”

            “I have,” Dagna agreed. “He hasn’t told any jokes yet.”

            Sera gave him a disappointed look. “Are you moping again?”

            “I do not mope.”

            "You mope.” Sera said. “Is it because the Inquisitor took Solas?”

            “This is not about the Inquisitor.” Truthfully he had felt a twinge of annoyance at being left behind, but he knew that he couldn’t accompany Daylen on all of his missions. His battle magic didn’t rely on tactics of the sort that would leave a wyvern’s heart intact.

            “ _You_ can’t call him that. You need a name for him.”

            “How lucky that he already has one of those.”

            “See?” Sera said nudging Dagna with an elbow. “Funny.”

            Dagna chucked. “I see.”

            Dorian sighed in mock annoyance. “I am not a court jester to be called upon for amusement.”

            Sera ignored the complaint. “I can help with names. I’m good at those. You could call him Inky or Shiny or Danglebits.”

            “Truly your creativity knows no bounds.”

            “Dagna and I are going to play with fire. Wanna join?”

            “I have reading to catch up on.” He didn’t want to be anywhere near Sera playing with fire.

            They walked out of the undercroft together. Before he could slip back to the library Sera grabbed his arm. “I thought of another one.” She pulled him closer to whisper in his ear. “Sweetums.”

            He shook his head as Sera chortled and dashed across the throne room with Dagna close behind. It made him blush just to think of saying such a thing to Daylen. He could only imagine the reactions should he take up Sera’s suggestion in public. No, that kind of term of endearment wouldn’t do at all.

            _Amatus._ The word came to him unbidden. He pushed it from his mind. Absurd. Such things were for sappy love poems. He was not in love. In a relationship, yes. A wonderful relationship with an absolutely perfect man who could make his heart flutter just by looking at him. But that warm breathless feeling was surely just the novelty and excitement of finding someone who cared to share his company in the bedroom as well as out of it. Plenty of people had relationships. It didn’t meant they were in love.

            Dorian climbed the stairs to the library. What he needed was a good book to keep his mind focused on something other than nonsense. Solas had lent him a book on rift magic that he’d been meaning to finish. He searched the shelves for it then his desk and finally his quarters. It wasn’t until he’d wandered back to the library that he remembered he’d been reading it in Daylen’s room. Somehow he’d forgotten to bring it back with him. It wasn’t like him to misplace a book. He made his way through the familiar path underneath Skyhold that led to the scaffolding and around to Daylen’s quarters. He’d just slip into the room and take it back. Ever since that incident with his underthings he’d taken to double checking that he hadn’t left anything behind.

            He climbed the final flight of stairs and looked around. The room seemed cold and empty for reasons that had nothing to do with the lack of a fire in the fireplace. Without Daylen’s presence this was just another cold, grey room, with a view of the unforgiving mountains that protected Skyhold more than its crumbling walls. The book was still where he’d left it, on the bedside table.

            “Dorian?”

            _Of course you’d come back at this exact moment._

            Daylen pulled him into a rib crushing embrace and kissed him with thorough enthusiasm. “I’ve missed you.”

            “It’s only been a week.” _Eight whole days._

            “This is a nice surprise. I thought I’d have to pry you away from a book in the library later, but here you are waiting for me.”

            “Just so happens that the book I wanted was up here.” He picked it up and presented the cover.

            Daylen clutched at his chest in feigned agony. “You wound me. You could at least pretended you want to see me.”

            “Your ego’s big enough without my stroking it.”

            “Are you suggesting I’ll have to stroke myself?” Daylen asked with a smirk.

            Dorian rolled his eyes. “By your good mood I take it that your trip was a success?”          

            “Sure. Varric and Cassandra bickered. Solas gave me a couple compliments that may have been insults. I threw a bunch of rocks into the Fade. Then we got a wyvern heart and came back.”

            “You did _what_?”

            Daylen wiggled his fingers. “I tried to use this thing to blast apart a collapsed tunnel. Didn’t work quite as I expected. The rocks sort of disappeared. Solas thinks they fell through the rift I opened and into the Fade. Best of all no demons came through. I think I might have crushed them.”

             “Let me make sure I understand you correctly. You tore the veil because it was more convenient than waiting to do it the old fashioned way? Do you have any idea-“

            “I know,” Daylen raised his hands to stall him. “I know. My mark is not something to be used lightly. From now on I’ll do things the slow and boring way.”

            Dorian shook his head. How could Daylen do something so irresponsible? Most of the terrible things that happened were a result of someone messing with powers they didn’t understand. He wanted to point this out, but then changed his mind. Things were good between them. No doubt Solas had already berated him. There was no reason to spoil an otherwise pleasant reunion with an argument.

            “I need to wash off this grime,” Daylen said. “Will you wait?”

            “I suppose I can read here as well as in the library.”

            Dorian lit the fire then settled on the bed with the book he’d been intending to read all along. Maybe he’d convince Daylen to read it. At the very least some of the gruesome illustrations might discourage him from any more careless use of his powers. He’d only gotten through a handful of pages before Daylen reappeared wearing his favorite beige sleeping clothes. The same ones he insisted on wearing to early morning meetings. Dorian suspected that he enjoyed how much the fashion choice dismayed his advisors.

            "I have something for you," Daylen said with a mischievous look that could only mean he wouldn’t be getting through any more of his reading. He straddled Dorian's lap and slid his hands under his shirt, toward the center of his chest

            "Get that line from one of Varric’s novels did you?" He liked to pretend that all of the terrible innuendos didn’t amuse him.

            Daylen's hands split apart and ghosted down over his sides. "It's not a line."

            "Really?"

            The hands found their way to his hipbones and pressed into them, massaging through the cloth of his pants. Daylen shifted to sit between his legs and caressed over the outsides of his thighs, pressing gently into the sensitive skin at the back of his knees.

            "Really."

            Knowing he'd never get any reading done at this rate Dorian closed the book and put it on the nightstand. He raised an eyebrow at Daylen who didn't respond and instead slipped his hands under him and kneaded his way up from his knees toward his lower back. For some reason he didn't understand, even through cloth that always made him quiver with pleasure. He took a controlled breath and forced himself to stay still.

            "So what is it?" he asked, proud that his voice didn't betray even a hint of the desire that was building up in him.

            "Guess." Daylen said hooking his fingers into his waistband as if to pull off his pants then instead returning to massaging his hips.

            Dorian chewed on his own lip in frustration knowing this torture would continue until he made a genuine attempt to guess what exactly it was the Daylen had other than the ability to drive him into a frenzy before they'd so much as taken off a scrap of clothing. "A book?"

            A dark chuckle and a gentle squeeze. "No."

            "Wine?" He guessed again as his hands seemed to travel of their own accord to grasp at the pillow trapped under his head.

            Daylen's hands rubbed over him with glorious friction only to retreat to massaging his inner thigh. "Wrong again."

            _Kaffas._ He couldn't restrain a slight twitch of his hips. "I don't know," he rasped.

            "So quick to give up," Daylen admonished finally pulling at his pants and smallclothes.

            Dorian raised his hips to make the work easier. Maker's breath, what in Thedas could it be? His attempts to gather his thoughts failed as Daylen took the opportunity to breathe on his now freed erection. Something between a huff and pant slipped out of him. He gripped the pillow tighter.

            "That's-" his breath hitched as Daylen breathed on him again. "Cheating."

            His accusation was rewarded with a complete retreat. "Close your eyes."

            "Kaffas! Just tell me," Dorian growled.         

            "Cursing in Tevene already? We're just getting started. Close your eyes or I'll have you squirming like this the whole night."

            Deciding it was no idle threat Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and listened as Daylen got up. He could hear him open and close a drawer, probably by the desk. The bed sagged next to him and then Daylen unwound one of his hands from the pillow and pressed something cold into it.

            "Take a look," Daylen whispered.

            Dorian opened his eyes and pulled his hand out from under the pillow to look at the object. It was a vial of lyrium. He closed his eyes again and groaned. "I knew it."

            "Did you now?" Daylen asked. "I was thinking of giving you a wyvern pelt, but then I remembered I had this up here. Now, seeing as I'm not actually a templar, we'd have to skip to the part where you drink this. Care to conduct an experiment?"

            With only a moment’s hesitation he drank from the vial. There wasn't much in it and at first he only felt the cool tingle of it across his tongue and then at the back of his throat. He'd never taken lyrium outside of needing replenishment during battle. The lyrium rushed through him like a wave, starting counterintuitively at his toes and rolling over him with the electric tingle of magic.

            Daylen kissed his stomach. Dorian felt his whole body tremble with the pleasure of it. A moan escaped him and he felt rather than heard Daylen's chuckle.

            "I take it, it's working."          

            "It's working." Dorian panted with the effort of getting the affirmation out coherently.

            "What's it like?"

            He could only whimper in response a he felt the warmth of a Daylen's mouth engulf him. His back arched in response. Someone was babbling unintelligible words broken by moans. It took him a while to realize that someone was him. He tried and failed to restrain the ridiculous sounds escaping him. His hands scrabbled for sheets, blankets, pillows, anything to keep him from coming undone, but found nothing. The mouth retreated and he panted for breath. When he was finally able to open his eyes and look, Daylen was dipping a finger into oil.

            Sweet Maker this was some plan to kill with pleasure. They'd find his corpse here, toes still curled. He shuddered with anticipation.

            "Is it too much?" Daylen asked. "Should I stop?"

            He shook his head in response and felt a slickened finger massage at his entrance before slowly pushing in. His hips bucked of their own accord. When his body adjusted he wriggled his hips praying his movement would be understood. Daylen twisted the finger within him.

            A cry tore out of his throat before his senses exploded and he felt pleasure engulf him like a wave of fire. As if from a great distance he heard Daylen gasp. He’d never felt anything similar. It was like being wrenched out of his body and tossed into a pool of sheer bliss.

            The whole of his body felt hot. Maker, he could even see flames dancing above him. Then he realized that he wasn't having an ecstasy induced hallucination, but rather that the bed curtains were ablaze around them. In a panic he shot ice to douse the flames sending a shower of ash and ice bits fluttering over the bed.

            Daylen was still kneeling between his spread out legs staring up at the charred clumps of cloth hanging around them. Bits of ash had drifted down into his hair and onto his shoulders. His eyes wandered down to meet Dorian's and he burst into a fit of laughter that soon had him doubled over on his side.

            Dorian groaned and pulled a pillow over his head, his hands trembling with the effort of even that much exertion. His whole body felt limp. He'd never get over the embarrassment of losing control like that. Some moments later Daylen straddled him and pulled the pillow away from his face.

            "That," he said leaning his forehead against Dorian's. "Was the _hottest_ thing I've ever seen."

            "I ruined the curtains."

            "Forget the curtains. They were grisly." Daylen kissed the corner of his mouth and then suddenly he was laughing again, his whole body shaking.

            "I'm glad this amuses you."

            Daylen wiped tears of amusement from his eyes and kissed him again. "Sorry. It's just, Varric calls you _Sparkler._ "

            Dorian could only make a strangled sound in response.

 


	29. In Which Daylen Is Distracted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long lack of update dear readers.

               Daylen held onto the ladder and watched Dorian hoover at the top of it, bed curtains draped over his arm. Dorian had insisted on getting him a new set. He’d also insisted that the incident leading to a need for a replacement set had to have been a fluke of control brought on by the ingestion of an unbalanced lyrium potion. Daylen hadn’t bothered with defending himself against accusations that his experimentation could have led to a case of lyrium poisoning. He was looking forward to disproving that theory with actions rather than words.

                Despite Dorian’s assurances that he knew what he was doing, Daylen had strong suspicions he’d never put up curtains of any kind before. The process was taking much longer than he considered reasonable for a simple bit of redecorating. He looked toward the windows. It was almost dinner time. The days since his return from the hunting trip had been dragging. Vivienne had left with the wyvern heart and had yet to come back to Skyhold. Daylen couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that he should be doing something, anything other than just waiting for Hawke to show up.

                "Amatus, pass me a pin."

                He plucked one off the bed. "You really should be nicer to me. I'm holding the ladder."

                "Nicer?"

                "You only use Tevene when you're cursing. I could tickle you silly from here, you know. You'd fall right off. _Amatus_. What does that one mean? Wait, don't tell me! Does it translate to pinhead?" One of these days he’d learn some Tevene and surprise Dorian with something other than a string of the curses he'd picked up so far.

                Dorian stared down at him aghast.

                He rolled his eyes. "Don't make startled halla fawn eyes at me. You know I'm not serious. I like you far too much to risk injury to that magnificent head on your shoulders. Now, are you going to take this from me sometime today?"

                Dorian took the pin from him and turned back to the curtains. He fumbled with the pin for a long moment, stuck it into the material haphazardly then climbed down from the ladder. They both took a few steps back to admire the new decor. Daylen had to admit that the curtains looked exquisite, if a bit crooked. They’d probably fall down on top of them one of these nights. He’d have to ask one of the women who worked on decorating Skyhold with Vivienne to fix them later. He put an arm around Dorian's waist and pulled him closer.

                “You were right. These look great. Thank you."

                "It doesn't mean pinhead," Dorian whispered.

                 "What?"

                "Amatus. It doesn't mean pinhead."

                “Goodness. Something worse then?”

                Dorian looked into his eyes with a strange expression then looked away and shrugged. "Not really. Something like distracted one. I can tell you've been thinking about dinner this whole time."

                He laughed. “You know me too well. And speaking of thinking. I’ve been thinking this place could use a touch more you.”

                “Be still my beating heart. You'll agree to change that hideous rug?”

                In honesty he didn’t know what kind of rug had been found for his room without checking. It covered the stone floor which was about as much as he expected out of it. As it turned out, it happened to be a drab grey and likely made out of sown together rags.

               “I suppose I could use a new one. But I meant that you could keep some of your things here. You spend a lot of nights here anyway. That way you wouldn’t have to rush back and forth at the crack of dawn just to comb your hair.” For all his complaining about rising early it was Dorian who woke him in mornings, claiming that he had important things that needed doing. As far as he could tell those things included ensuring that no one else spotted him in disarray.

                Dorian huffed. “Are you suggesting my hair doesn’t look perfect at all times?”

                “Maker forbid. I’m merely pointing out that there’s this empty spot on my dresser.” He pointed to it. “Look at it. It’s all sad and lonely.”

                "And this has nothing to do with using me as a pillow in the mornings?" Dorian inspected the empty surface of the dresser skeptically, as if he expected it might present a danger to his possessions.

                "I'm affronted by your accusations. This isn’t about me. It’s about my dresser." 

                “I suppose I could find a spare comb to keep it company.”

                “Good.” He sealed the agreement with a kiss. “Care to come watch me spar with Cassandra?"

                “I need to get these pins off the bed. We don't want any unfortunate accidents."

                "And here I was going to suggest that you pin me to the mattress later."

                "Your wordplay grows more terrible with every passing day.”

                Daylen grinned. "And yet you brave the dangers by spending time in my company. Don’t forget about dinner with Sera. You know what happens when you make her wait to eat.”

                When he arrived in the courtyard Cassandra was already waiting for him. She stood in the courtyard with her eyes closed as if in prayer. The normal frantic energy that surrounded her faded whenever she picked up a sword. The peace that seemed to elude her at all other times surrounded her on the battlefield like an invisible shield. His preoccupation with dinner earned him several whacks with a training sword right at the beginning of their sparring session. Daylen took a breath and cleared his mind of dinner and Hawke's arrival. Instead he focused on the moment. The feel of the perpetually soggy ground, with mud that sucked at his feet just enough to be an annoyance. The feel of a blow reverberating through his shield and up his arm. The rush of adrenaline where everything faded away. There was no war to win. No world to save. Only the next blow that needed deflecting and the next opportunity to gain an advantage. By the time Cassandra called an end to the sparring session they were both covered in mud and a good number of painful bruises.

                 Cassandra wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm, succeeding only in smearing mud all over her face. “You are a formidable opponent, Inquisitor. If circumstances were different you might have made a good Seeker. Although the Maker was wise to lead you into the hands of Andraste instead.”

                Daylen put away his training sword and shield and dunked his hands into a nearby wash basin and did his best to clean up at least his face and arms. The splashing saved him from having to come up with a response. The thought that he’d been plucked from obscurity by Andraste herself wasn’t exactly comforting. Being picked for saving the world only ended well in stories.

                “Inquisitor, I cannot help but notice that of late you seem…restless.”

                Had it really been that obvious? He scratched at a bit of dried mud on his sleeve to stall. He still hadn’t come up with a way to break the news about Hawke’s imminent arrival to Cassandra.

                “There is a rumor being circulated. I find it hard to credit, but… I wonder if it is not the source of your distraction.”

                Daylen raised an eyebrow. There couldn’t possibly be rumors about Hawke circulating Skyhold. No one, not even Dorian, knew that she might be arriving any day. “And what rumor might that be?”

                “It suggest you and Dorian are…

                He could hardly restrain his laughter. The woman who faced giants in battle without the slightest hesitation transformed into a nervous mess by gossip about his love life.

                “Are?”

                “Romantically involved.”

                “We are.”

                “Oh. That is…a relief.”

                He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that my...” He simply could not resist. “ _Relief_ was of such great concern.”

                Cassandra’s eyes widened for a moment and she burst into a believable coughing fit. “There have been many rumors since you took your title. I thought you might be perturbed by them. Since that is not the case I will happily leave this matter in your hands, Inquisitor.”

                “Rumors more disturbing than the ones about Dorian using me as a puppet of Tevinter through blood magic?”

                “There has been mention of you and a man named Philip. Also, Mother Giselle…”

                It was his turn to cough. “Excuse me?”

                “If it truly interests you Josephine has more…detailed reports.”

                Daylen raised a hand in protest. “I think I’ll stick to Cullen’s reports on catapult adjustments, thank you.”

                “A wise decision I am sure. Though if you are starved for better reading material, I have something I can lend you.”

                “It’s not a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ is it?” Copies of the book seemed to turn up everywhere. In despair he’d started to gather them up and bring them back to the library, but there seemed to be an unending supply of that terrible bit of writing. 

                “It is a book of poetry that I am certain you will appreciate.”

                He tried to look enthusiastic at the prospect. “That sounds lovely.”

                “Several of them have been banned by the Chantry,” Cassandra said with a small smile.

                He grinned. “That does sound like something I'd appreciate.”

                “I’ll bring it by later.”

                Daylen gave his thanks and rushed off toward the tavern. If there was one thing that he hated, it was being late for dinner. He burst into the tavern and walked straight into Sera, almost knocking her over.

                “Ayh! Watch it, you lum-mix!” She rubbed her shoulder with a scowl.

                “Lum-mix?” Daylen asked. All of a sudden everyone was calling him things he didn’t understand.

                “She means lummox," Dorian explained.

                Sera shrugged and plopped down at a nearby table. The tavern wasn’t particularly full for the hour. Cullen had taken advantage of the momentary lull to send soldiers out to help with rebuilding roads and bridges. Some mages had gone along to help with healing refugees. He couldn't remember Skyhold ever feeling as empty. Would it be like this after they defeated Corypheus and the others went their separate ways?

                “Well,” Daylen said taking a seat across from her. “I’ve been called worse. She could be calling me Amatus _._ ”

                Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes. That would be…worse. Shall I get the stew?” And he walked away to fetch it without waiting for a confirmation. 

                “Ama-whatsis?” Sera asked. “That some kind of dirty talk?”

                “No.”

                “Twos of you are no fun.”

                “I think we do alright.”

                “Oh, yea?” Sera asked. “Care to give details?”

                Dorian returned with bowls of stew and slices of fresh bread. “Details about what?”

                “Mashing bits,” Sera said picking up a piece of bread and shoving most of it in her mouth at once. “Isa dohtsouf spwahs?”

                Daylen started on his stew and raised an eyebrow in question to Dorian who shrugged his shoulders, clearly incapable of translating.

                Sera took a drink from her bowl and swallowed. “Sparks. Is there lots of sparks?”

                Dorian flushed, lowered his face over his own bowl and started eating with an uncharacteristic gusto.

                “If you can’t get the details out of Dorian, you’re not getting them out of me,” Daylen said with a grin that betrayed him.

                Sera chortled. “I can see it now. Wham. Bam. Whoosh. Fire! Crackle! Zap! Pop!”

                Daylen laughed and dunked his bread in the stew. It was good to finally be able to joke about this among his closest companions. Much as he tried to ignore it, Dorian’s insistence on discretion had been wearing on him. It bothered him to think that others might believe him to be keeping his relationship with Dorian secret due to embarrassment or to avoid scandal. It was enough work to put on the face of the Inquisitor before the countless people who needed him. He did not relish wearing yet another mask.

                “Are you certain you’re not thinking of a certain dwarf?” Dorian asked. “A dwarf who enjoys playing with fire?”

                They finished their dinner with Dorian and Sera exchanging their usual banter. Daylen wished he could parade the two of them in front of Thedas.  A Tevinter mage with a vocabulary fit to impress a royal court and a Ferelden elf with a vocabulary fit to impress a band of pirates, happily chatting away over bowls of stew.

                By the time they’d walked out of the tavern it had grown dark and Daylen reached for Dorian’s hand. A spark of electric energy ran through his fingers and he yelped in surprise, shaking his hand to rid himself of the unpleasant tingle. “What was that for?”

                “One of the perils of startling a mage,” Dorian said. “Now run along. I’ll join you in your quarters in a moment.”

                Before he could protest Dorian disappeared, presumably to avoid being seen entering his chambers by the handful of people in the great hall. Suppressing a groan of frustration he made his way toward his rooms. When he’d finally made his way up the steps he promptly tripped over a pair of slippers. He wind milled his arms to keep from falling flat on his face and just managed to keep his balance.

                “Graceful as ever I see.”

                “Care to explain yourself?” Daylen asked turning around to find Dorian right behind him, not even a bit out of breath from what had to have been a rush through several dusty corridors.

                 Dorian kicked the slippers to the side with a sheepish look. “Forgive me. You said I could keep some things here. Your floor is freezing in the morning. I might have found a better place for them.”

                "I'm not talking about the slippers,” he said in annoyance. “I meant that electric display earlier.”

                “As I said. You surprised me.”

                Daylen sat down on the sofa and pulled off his boots. “Is it really so surprising that I might wish to show you affection outside the confines of this room?”

                “There is no need to make a spectacle of what is between us. It is simple enough for me to take the long way around. It helps me to maintain this stunning physique.”

                “A spectacle? I’m not asking to stuff a hand down your pants I front of a crowd. I’m simply asking that you use the front door.”

                “Those might as well be the same in the eyes of your many visitors.”

                “Fuck their eyes.” He tossed his boots to the side with a vehemence that surprised even him. They bounced against the wall with a dull thud that echoed through the room. “When they write a book about the Inquisition I don’t want you listed next to Mother Giselle among those rumored to have warmed my bed.”

                The revelation failed to elicit the shocked reaction he'd expected. Dorian seemed to calm in response to his outburst. “Thinking of your legacy, already? Don’t worry, there’s still a chance all of us will be slaughtered along the way. If we get lucky there won’t be anyone left to write about any of our exploits.”

                “And if we succeed, there will be more eyes on us than ever before. What happens after that?”

                “Ah yes. _After._ Dreadful thing, after." Dorian crossed his arms. "What is it you imagine will happen?”

                “Was my suggestion that you move some of your things here not obvious enough? I want us to be together.”

                “You’re very sentimental for someone who’s killed as many people as you have.”

                Daylen flinched. There was no denying the amount of blood on his hands, but he did everything in his power to minimize it. “Is that how you think of me?”

                “Sweet Maker. Don’t make those calf eyes. You trained your whole life to keep mages imprisoned. Don’t pretend you lose sleep over the corpses you leave in your wake.”          

                He did sleep fine. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since all of this had started. Not a single one of those who’d died haunted his dreams. What did that make him?

                “Based on Leliana’s thick file on you there’s plenty that ought to keep you awake.”

                Although Leliana had compiled a file on Dorian, same as on anyone else who’d joined the Inquisition, he hadn’t read it. He’d meant it when he’d told Cassandra that he didn’t intend to violate the privacy of those closest to him. But right now he wanted something to throw back at Dorian. There had to be at least one thing in there that Dorian wasn’t proud of.

                 “File?” Dorian’s expression was unreadable.

                “Did you imagine I let you into the Inquisition trusting your good looks alone?”

                “I see. Did you vet my _skills_ as well?”

                He couldn’t find adequate words to point out the absurdity of the suggestion. “There wasn’t enough time,” he said sarcastically.

                The throw away comment seemed to hit some mark invisible to him because Dorian fell silent and looked away. “At last we arrive at what you think of me.”

                Daylen didn’t have the slightest clue as to what that meant, but was spared having to come up with a response by a knock on his door. He stormed down the staircase and pulled the door open ready to berate some unimportant messenger. He found nothing but a book of poetry to greet him. Clearly, their voices had been raised enough to reach Cassandra and scare her away from giving it to him directly. He made his way back up the staircase with the book under his arm.

                “Who was it?

                _Philip. Apparently he’s my other secret lover._ He bit back the retort and sighed. He’d forgotten what they were even fighting about. Pursuing this further would resolve nothing. “Cassandra. She brought over a bit of light reading.”

                “Oh.” It seemed the fight had drained out of Dorian as well. “I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

                “You don’t have to.”

                “Don't I?” 

                “Let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long day. We've both said things we shouldn't have.”

                To his relief Dorian didn’t resist the suggestion. He left Dorian in the room and thanked the Maker for a bathroom with hot water. By the time he'd soaked away the soreness in his muscles and washed off the last of the mud the curtains were drawn around the bed. Dorian had fallen asleep or at the very least had composed himself into feigning it believably. Unwilling to go to sleep just yet he picked up the book that Cassandra had given him and flipped it fall open at random. By the cracking of the book’s spine in the spot he guessed the page was a favorite.

                _Carmenum di Amatus_

He did a double take. _Amatus?_ Surely, Cassandra’s favorite poem was not about the perils of distraction.

_On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath._

_It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover’s kiss._

_It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss._

_His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer._

_Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night._

_His eyes reflect the heaven’s stars, the Maker’s light._

_My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there._

_Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life._

He read through it again and then another time. It was the sort of sappy piece that would delight Cassandra. And he could see why the Chantry would ban such a love poem. _Love_ poem.  _Amatus._ It didn't mean distracted at all. Or at least not in the way Dorian had explained it. He smiled thinking of the way the word had slipped from Dorian’s lips without the slightest thought. As if it were the obvious thing to call him.

                Daylen put aside the book, blew out the candles and crawled in next to Dorian. He molded himself to his back and wrapped an arm around him. Dorian shifted to entwine their fingers. So he had been feigning sleep after all.

                _Amatus._ Had the Maker ever brought together two bigger fools?


	30. In Which Dorian Encounters Claws

           Dorian had read about the Champion of Kirkwall and had heard more than one tale about her. He’d imagined her as a tall woman with a tremendous presence. Someone intimidating and a bit boisterous. After all, she’d been the one at the center of events that had started the war between mages and templars. The apostate supporter of mage freedoms rumored to have taken a possessed revolutionary for a lover. In short, he expected someone with a good deal of presence and charisma. But Hawke was a wisp of woman. Rather short and small boned, at first he’d mistaken her for an elf. She had a set of restless eyes and the pinched face of someone who’d been ill for a long time. She’d arrived at Skyhold with only a serving girl in tow. The serving girl actually was an elf. Pale blond and hunched into herself in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of slaves back in Tevinter.

           Daylen, Varric, and Hawke had gone into a meeting immediately after her arrival and Dorian was waiting for them to emerge. Which was how he ended up observing the serving girl. She stood by the door to Josephine’s office wringing her hands and looking about as if awaiting an ambush.

           “You work for Hawke, yes?” he asked approaching.

           Her already impossibly large green eyes widened to resemble saucers before she bowed her head. “Yes, Lord Pavus.”

 _Lord Pavus?_ “How do you know my name?”

           “I-“ she hesitated. “I remember you from Tevinter, mi’ lord. Sometimes Mistress Hadriana let me serve wine at parties.”

           Dorian searched his memory. _Hadriana_. The name sounded familiar. “Did she host many parties?”

           “No, mi’ lord. She was apprenticed to Magister Danarius and spent much time studying.”

           It clicked in his mind then. He’d met Hadriana only a couple of times. She had a reputation for being a nasty piece of work. Which was saying something considering the types of things apprentices got up to in Tevinter. Not to mention, it was common knowledge that Magister Danarius dabbled in blood magic. Of course, officially he just had a high slave turnover. His father had once mentioned in disgust that Danarius had successfully carved lyrium into an elven slave who served as his bodyguard. Come to think of it, he’d never made the connection between that story and the strange Fenris mentioned in stories about the Champion. Had he escaped with this girl somehow and joined Hawke?

           “These day I go by Dorian. Forgive my deplorable manners, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

           “Orana.”

           “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Would you like me to show you the kitchens? You might as well eat. It’ll probably be a while before they’re done.”

           She shook her head. “No, Mistress Hawke told me to wait here for her.”

           Dorian felt his skin prickle. Before he’d spent time in the south he’d never given much thought to slavery in Tevinter. His hopes for reform had focused on the use of blood magic. His family had treated its slaves well and he’d never given much thought to the elves who’d milled about everywhere he went. They existed as a vague part of the scenery, but not as individuals in anything except the most abstract sense. Now that he’d spent time in the south it disturbed him to realize that for most of his life he’d somehow missed the misery and terror he’d seen reflected back at him by countless people over the years. How many of the elves who he’d thought well treated had once been a Sera, free to lead a life of their own choosing before a stroke of bad luck had forced them into a life at the mercy of some master? Or possibly a Krem, fallen on hard times?

            “Surely she wouldn’t mind if you stepped away for a moment to eat,” Dorian said. How had the girl come to work for Hawke? There was no mention of her in the reading he’d done. “It must have been a long journey.”

            “No. Mistress said-“

            The door opened and Hawke emerged. She looked from Orana to Dorian. “Something bothering you?”

            “Not at all,” Dorian said taken, aback by her tone. “I was just offering to show her to the kitchens for something to eat.”

             “You should mind what you offer.” Hawke’s eyes wandering to linger a moment on the Inquisitor’s throne. Then without further explanation she walked away. Orana scurried after her.

            Dorian stared after the two of them. He couldn’t say that he was looking forward to working with Hawke. And he didn’t think Daylen would be pleased about it either. Was it just his guilt or did Hawke seem to treat Orana as if she were still a slave rather than an employee?

            “Sparkler,” Varric said emerging. “I see you’ve met Hawke and Orana.”

            He nodded. “I wasn’t aware that the Champion’s exploits included rescuing slaves.”

            Varric scowled. “Their meeting was, shall we say, accidental. Excuse me, I have to go hide from Cassandra.”

            When Daylen didn’t emerge he went into the war room to find him staring at the map spread out on the table and absent mindedly twirling one of the troop markers.

            “She’s something, isn’t she?”

            Daylen replaced the marker and looked up. “You can say that again. She says she knows a grey warden who can help. We’re going to head out to meet him tomorrow. Care to come along?”

            “You know me, always eager to spend a night freezing in a damp tent.”

            “Hmm.”

            Daylen had been unusually pensive in the past few days. Ever since their argument about his refusal to use the main door. He didn’t know what to say or do to make things normal between them again. Bringing it up again might lead to yet another spat. Especially, since he hadn’t changed his mind. He liked the comfortable intimacy of their relationship. It was their joint retreat from a curious public that forced its way into every other part of their lives. The minute that ended everyone would feel free to intrude into a place they’d carved out for themselves. If there was one thing he’d never been fond of, it was sharing.

            Even worse, he was beginning to suspect that his slip up on that same day hadn’t been a slip up at all. _Amatus_. Maybe he’d said exactly what he’d meant to. Somehow that was more terrifying than the thought of Corypheus swooping into Skyhold on the back of his dragon.

            “Are you alright?” _Are we alright?_

“I’m fine.”

            Dorian stepped closer so that he could look down at the map. It was covered in so many markers that it amazed him anyone could keep track of what it all meant. “You’ve been a little… distracted.” _And not in the enjoyable way._

            “Just this grey warden situation.”

            “Of course.”

            Daylen sighed. “Don’t ‘of course’ me that way.  If you have something to say, then say it.”

            How could just two sentences make him feel so small?

            “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll leave you to your work.”

            He turned and walked out of the war room. Better to leave before both of them said any more things they’d end up regretting. They’d be sharing a tent tomorrow and it would be miserable enough without an annoyed Daylen. He’d hoped that Hawke’s arrival would lift some of the burden from his shoulders. After all, what could be better than having the Champion on their side? Instead she’d brought more discord with her. In the great hall Cassandra stormed past him. He didn’t envy Varric that conversation.

            “Why the long face, darling?”

            Vivienne had an impeccable sense of fashion and a ruthless control over herself both on and off the battlefield that Dorian admired. But there was something hypocritical about a woman who’d clawed her way out of a life of confinement supporting reinstituting the very system of prisons that she’d fought to escape.  

            “Just despairing over the state of the décor.”

            Vivienne looked around. “Ah yes. Such untapped potential. Truly disappointing. Perhaps you are finding being the Inquisitor’s paramour to be much the same way?”

              _Paramour_. As if he were some sort of illicit court secret. Not that it bothered him that others might think that of him. Not at all. If it bothered him then he’d be forced to admit Daylen might have a point. “Enchanter, tell me. How is your ‘friend’ Duke Bastien?”

             “Such snapping for a fish without teeth. You’re not a shark and never will be, darling.”

            And quite like a fish he couldn’t help but take the bait. “I could always pretend. Wear fancy clothes, convince everyone I’m something I’m not. Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.”

            If the observation had any of its intended impact Vivienne gave no indication. “Duke Bastien was no more my ‘friend’ than the Inquisitor is yours. Do master yourself. Your outbursts are unbecoming.”

            “Was? Have you carved his heart out of your life and replaced it with a snowy wyvern’s?”

            “I am many things, but a necromancer is not one of them.”

            _Necromancer? Maker. He’s dead. That settles it, Pavus. The moment you’ve sent Corypheus packing you’re going to invent a sinkhole spell. Never again will you wish in vain that the ground might open and swallow you whole._

“I- hadn’t heard. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

            “Don’t trouble yourself over it, dear.” Vivienne said with a dismissive wave. “And know that I do not wish you ill in your relationship. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have an important meeting.” She swept away to greet an Orlesian woman and led her out of the great hall.

            Dorian watched her leave with a sense of dread. He didn’t like the thought that he might one day share more than a sense of fashion and magical ability with Vivienne. Could he ever be a Vivienne? Sharing Daylen with the Inquisition and a partner of political convenience? It didn’t sound like an appealing prospect. In fact, it was the sort of prospect that called for a strong drink and a good book to keep his mind off things. He kept a bottle or two on hand in the library for days just like this one.

            When he reached the top of the stairs he found Helisma watching him. He half expected that she too would offer some observation or comment. Instead she turned back to her table, hands mechanically sorting a heap of claws into jars. He stepped up to the table and picked up a rage demon’s claw. Astounding how many Daylen had brought back from all of their excursions. Helisma paused in her work to watch him. Dorian dropped it in the appropriate jar. It fell in with a satisfying clink. Helisma took a step to the side, giving him more room and watched expectantly. He picked up another. Their hands fell into a rhythm. Pick up a claw. Examine it. Drop it in a jar. Repeat. Perhaps tranquility was not always the curse he imagined.


	31. In Which Daylen Reads Aloud

                Camping in Crestwood would have ranked fairly low on his list of favorite things to do, even without having Hawke along for the trip. The weather was deplorable and the undead prowled at all hours. Hawke made him nervous. She was quiet, but not in a contemplative sort of way. At times it seemed as if they traveled with only her body, while her spirit disappeared to another plane where rest of them could never follow. Only magic snapped her back. For most of his life he'd believed all magic to be the same unnatural force. These days the differences seemed obvious. Vivienne cast with the discipline and precision of a soldier, no movement of her spirit sword went to waste. Dorian indulged in flourishes, a lover tempting a partner to one more dance. And there was Solas, who cast strange spells that felt like gnarled trees in a forest, ancient and wild. Hawke's magic flowed in furious torrents both from her and toward her, in a strange symbiosis he'd never sensed in other mages. In battle, the ground trembled from the raw force of her spells. Varric had called her unbalanced, and he would have liked to agree. But that was not the impression Hawke gave him. She wasn’t unbalanced. She simmered with a calculated fury. Daylen was sure that if she found that the math supported murdering them all in their sleep she’d proceed without hesitation. It troubled him that he didn’t know which equations she was using. 

                Hawke threw a stick into the campfire, illuminating a crisscrossing of scars across her arm.

                “Shit, Hawke. That’s new,” Varric observed.

                She glanced down at her arms and rolled her sleeves down. “Ah yes. Merril and I ran into a spot of trouble. Or twelve.”

                Varric shook his head. “Didn’t you promise me and Isabella that you’d look out for Daisy? Keep her away from all that?”

                “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not Merril’s Keeper. And as you may recall even one of those can’t stop her when she’s determined.”

                “Last time you opened a vein, Corypheus came out of the depths flapping his arms and screeching about Dumat. Then he tore a hole in the sky. All I’m saying, Hawke.”

                “You might recall it was my father’s blood that kept him imprisoned before that. Blood magic is a tool like any other.”

                 _A blood mage. I should have known._ Daylen cleared his throat. “Forgive me, did you just say that _your_ blood magic is the reason we're all here?”

                “Varric didn’t mention it?” Hawke asked. “Fun trip. But then I’ve been told that Kirkwall warped my vacation expectations. Finding out he didn’t stay dead wasn’t the Satinalia gift I was hoping for by the way.”

                “Care for a bit of red lyrium instead? Shit’s all over the place now too.”

                “I knew I should’ve taken Isabella up on sailing the seas.”

                “Daisy, sailing the seas? Can’t picture that.” Varric pulled out a pack of cards and waved it. “Wicked Grace anyone?”

                Daylen shook his head and declined joining in. Despite all his warnings Varric seemed eager to do some catching up with Hawke. For his part, the less time he spent in her company, the better. He'd meet this grey warden and then they could part ways. Instead he went into his tent to find Dorian who’d been sulking for most of the trip. No doubt the weather was making him miserable. Not to mention that he’d snapped at him the other day in the war room as if somehow all of this was his fault. 

                Dorian, wrapped in an absurd amount of blankets, was reading a book by his usual wisp of light. He glanced up. “Napping before your watch? I can put the light out.”   

                “No.” He plopped down next to him. “Don’t do that. I wanted to see you.”

                “If I’d known I’d have summoned a more flattering light.”

                “Is that possible? You look handsome even in the flicker of a veilfire torch.”

                Dorian raised an eyebrow and flicked his hand. The light glowed warmer. “Now I know something is wrong. Even my complexion is no match for veilfire. What’s happened? Do we need to climb a frozen mountain?”

                “If I say no we’re sure to end up needing to climb one. Does something need to be wrong for me to want to see you?” Daylen reached out to take the book from Dorian. “Let me read aloud to you for a while. Your hands must be freezing.”

                Dorian yanked the book out of his reach and slammed it shut. “My hands are fine.”

                He raised an eyebrow. “So…do I have to tickle you into surrender or are you going to tell me what you’re reading?”

                Dorian held the book to his chest and sighed. “Very well. You’ve rooted me out. It’s a collection of terrible poetry. Sera gave it to me. There’s no need for you to subject yourself to her atrocious taste in literature.”

                Daylen pried it out of his hands and flipped to a page at random. “The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck. Songs of soft sighs by my head. Songs of nails upon my back. Songs of thee come to my bed-” Unable to continue, he dissolved into a fit of giggles.

                With a blush Dorian snatched the book back. “I told you it’s terrible.”

                “And you tease Cassandra for reading _Swords & Shields._”

                “She makes the choice to read that nonsense. For me, this is a matter of last resort.”

                “If it’s such a burden to read, perhaps we could attempt a reenactment instead?”

                Dorian’s lip quirked. “Daylen, we’re in a tent. And your talents, many as they may be, do not include making symphonies of _soft_ sighs.”

                It was true that being discrete in that area had never been one of his strong suits. He had some very awkward memories as proof. It could be pointed out that of late Dorian could on occasion be accused of the very same thing. But as it was one of the few things that could make the otherwise confident Dorian self-conscious, he let it pass unmentioned.

                “So, more poetry? Tell me _The Divine’s Touch_ is in there.”

                “Then you admit to reading terrible poems on your own time?”

                _If only you knew about one poem in particular._ He'd left Cassandra's book out on the night table, bookmarked on the right page, trusting that Dorian would be unable to resist the lure of a new tome. He still couldn't tell if the subtle hint had worked. “I resent that assumption. The Chantry took issue with the part where more than a sun bursts on the Sunburst Throne, that doesn’t make it a terrible poem. That makes it a banned poem.”

                Dorian groaned and slumped in resignation. Cocooned in blankets, the movement made him look more adorable than grumpy. “Maker preserve us. Haven’t you read anything that could be discussed in polite company?”

                “I read that thing you gave me about rift magic… Kind of a lot about staff thrusting in that one. Does it count?”

                Dorian whacked him over the head with the book in response. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there keeping an eye on our newest arrival?”

                “Ow.” Daylen rubbed his head in mock pain. “So eager to get rid of me?”

                “Always, Amatus.”

                Daylen couldn't help the warmth that flooded him. “I suppose I should try to make nice with her. She’s helping us after all. If we don’t learn something from this grey warden friend of hers then I’m not sure what we’ll do.”

                “Let’s not imagine new problems when we have plenty on the list, shall we? But I’m serious about keeping an eye or four on Hawke. Judging by the way she treats her serving girl, I don’t think she’d be out of place in Tevinter. Her casting may be rough around the edges from a lack of formal training, but she’s a powerful mage.”

                “She’s a blood mage.”

                “Vishante Kaffas. I should've known. When will people learn that nothing good can come of meddling with demons?”

                “I’m not holding my breath.” Daylen pulled the blankets tighter around Dorian. “Orana’s safe at Skyhold and we’re all keeping a close eye on Hawke. In the meantime you stay here and keep the blankets warm, Dreamboat.”

                Dorian sputtered. “Dreamboat?”

                “What? You’re the only one who gets to try out pet names?” He dodged another attack from the tome of poetry to plant a kiss on top of Dorian’s head and escaped out of the tent before he could hear another protest.

                He'd never known Varric to abandon a game of Wicked Grace, so either the reunion hadn't gone well or Hawke was an exceptional player. The others had disappeared into their tents, leaving her alone by the fire. The flames cast strange shadows on the alcove of scraggly rocks that surrounded them. She sat on one of the damp logs they’d pulled over to use as makeshift benches, plucking at a loose thread in her cloak. Her hand movements were clumsy as if she’d had too much drink. Daylen took a seat across from her.

                “You don’t trust me.” She continued staring at the thread, her fingers poised to pinch.

                “I don’t know you.”

                Her fingers closed with triumph over the thread and she snapped it off with a violent twist of the hand. “Such a diplomat. We’re working together, we can at least be honest with one another. If it makes you feel better I don’t trust you either.”

                “And why might that be?”

                “We’ve got a lot in common.”

                “Such as?”

                Hawke smirked. “A leap into the jaws of destiny.”

                He wished that he could believe that. If only he knew that he was doing precisely as was intended it would make everything easier.

                “The Tevinter. He’s your lover, is he not?”

                He waited for her to continue. By her tone he doubted it was meant as a genuine question.

                “Do not take offense. I am not one to judge. I know something of having lovers with a questionable past and a moral compass that points where it will.”

                “Dorian is nothing like Anders.” He bristled at the suggestion. Dorian would never attempt to reform his homeland by blowing up a building full of innocent people.   

                “What you know of Anders is limited to his role in the war. Outside of that he is a kind man. Passionate. Used to spend all of his free time healing refugees. That is until he was forced to spend his days and nights cowering at my estate for fear of being made Tranquil.”

                “You may call it passion. Others might prefer the term fanatic.”

                Hawke tilted her head in a way that was, he hated to even think it, hawke-like. “Are you really one to judge?”

                “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

                “I see the way he casts. He’s too skilled to be anything other than a noble. He must have owned slaves, if he doesn’t still. Does that not tickle your delicate conscience or is he good enough in the sack that your find yourself willing to sacrifice a bit of principal?”

                It didn’t please him at all that he had no idea as to whether or not Dorian had ever owned slaves. Somehow in all this time it had never come up. From the discussion they’d just had about Orana, he couldn’t imagine Dorian ever participating in the horrid practice. He was always going on about Tevinter needing reforms, slavery had to be at the top of the list.

                She laughed at his silence. “The truth is awkward, is it not?”

                “Since you’re so eager to discuss the truth, perhaps you’d care to talk about Fenris?” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to prod at that issue. It was a terrible idea to antagonize a mage who’d defeated an Arishok in one on one combat.

                “Fenris,”she said after a long moment. “Was a hypocritical bastard. Always going on about mages needing to be locked up. But mention slavery and he'd glow like a lyrium drugged firefly and tear your heart out. Danarius sent me a letter. Claims he’s back to his old self. Lucky him.”

                He hadn’t expected her to admit to it. “I think our definitions of _lucky_ may be different.”

                “If I’d refused to sell him back, Danarius would have killed me and then taken him anyway. Given a chance to go back in time I’d do the same. Fenris went with him without a fight. He chose life over freedom.”

                Daylen didn’t know if he could believe that. No one would ever know, except for Hawke and Danarius. And he had no plans of corroborating the story with the Magister. “You claim he hated mages, yet he fought at your side for years. You honestly don't regret what happened?”

                Hawke’s expression softened. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to get rid of him before Danarius showed up. He was a complete pain in the ass. When we got locked in the Deep Roads by a demented dwarf I'd thought I'd seen the worst. A trip to the Storm Coast with him and Merril cured me of that thought. Anyway, I got my wish. The look he gave me before I handed him over…For all his talk, he never really believed that he'd escaped. That look, it haunts my dreams more than all the death I’ve seen. Funny that it's the ones you never liked who stay with you.”

                Daylen wished that didn’t resonate with him, but he couldn’t help but think of High Chancellor Roderick. Alive he’d been a constant nuisance and he couldn’t count the number of times he’d wished that the man would simply disappear. Except if it hadn’t been for his actions and knowledge they would have all died at Haven. The gratefulness he felt permanently twisted itself with his recollection of their every unpleasant interaction. Sometimes in his nightmares he’d be wandering through the snow, searching for any source of warmth, only to stumble over his body. He’d stop to say a quick prayer and then move on, only to trip over him again and again until he woke up covered in a cold sweat as if he’d actually spent the night struggling through snow.

                When had he dreamed of him last? When had he last dreamed at all? He couldn't remember. Somehow that disturbed him more than anything. What kind of person didn’t have nightmares after the things he’d seen and done? Had he grown numb to bloodshed so quickly?

                Hawke stood up and stretched. “Don’t worry. Happy lives make for poor tales. If there’s a world left after this, your misery will pay for Varric’s estate. And if not, well…” She shrugged. “I’m going to sleep. Keep watch if you like, although I doubt anything will get past the barriers I’ve cast.”

                Daylen looked at the jagged walls of rock surrounding them like the teeth of some giant beast and fervently hoped these would be the last and only type of jaws he’d stumble into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Zevran for that bit of poetry. ;)


	32. In Which Dorian Feels Nauseous

            It had to be Tevinter ruins. Of course the Venatori would have picked some crumbling relic in the middle of a sandy wasteland to do nefarious things with the grey wardens. They couldn’t have picked some place that wouldn’t remind everyone in Thedas that his homeland always had more insane cretins willing to try some experiment bound to do serious damage. That would make life much too easy and he just _adored_ meeting furious Tevinter hating southerners. At least Hawke had gone ahead with Alistair, sparing them her company.

            Bull brushed sand from around his horns. “Excited to see your old friends, Vint?”

            “Positively quivering with anticipation. It’s been so long since I’ve exchanged a traditional Tevinter greeting. Lots of blood and screaming. It’ll be thrilling.”

            Cole scrambled into a withered tree and looked out across the desert. “You say words that hurt, but they aren’t real.”

            “It kills it if you explain it, kid.”

            “Yes, we all know how much you appreciate subtlety,” Dorian said. He rubbed at a scuff mark on his staff. The sand only scratched the surface further. “Vishante kaffas! This sand gets everywhere.” It was in his hair, the folds of his robes, and even in his boots. He suspected he’d even find some in his smallclothes.

            Bull grinned. “Need help polishing your staff?”

            “My staff has no complaints with the help it already gets, thank you very much.” He glanced toward Daylen who was on the other end of the camp absorbed skinning a varghest with Blackwall. His stomach lurched. They really had to start bringing more food with them on these excursions.

            Bull roared with laughter. “Good on you.”

            “I don’t understand,” Cole said. Perched up in the tree, he looked like an enormous bird.

            “When we get back,” Bull said, “I’ll introduce you to a nice woman named Candy. She can show you.”

            Dorian didn’t have the heart to point out that it was unlikely any encounter between Cole and someone named Candy would go as expected. Or any encounter with anyone ever, come to think of it. He abandoned his efforts with the staff and instead sat down under the makeshift canopy they’d constructed. It gave shade but wasn’t as stifling as sitting inside one of the tents. When the cold set in at night, he knew he’d regret complaining about the blazing heat.

            Daylen approached them, dusting sand off his clothes. “Something funny? I could use a joke after pulling the scales off that thing.”

            Cole dropped out of the tree. “Knock. Knock. He’s there. Heart beating. Breath escaping. Spell almost slips from fingers. Undone but held together.”

            “That’s not how that joke works,” Dorian pointed out mildly. He’d learned that the more he tried to pry a stray thought or memory back so that it wouldn’t be announced to everyone, the more of it ended up escaping. If you struggled, Cole would only hang on tighter, like a Mabari with a bone.

            “But it wasn’t a joke,” Cole protested. He tilted his head. “Blackwall wants your help The Iron Bull. He doesn’t know how to cook varghest. He thinks it’s your turn to cook.”

            “Hot,” Bull observed before walking away to help with dinner preparations.

            Daylen took a drink from his water skin. “Speaking of hot, is this what Tevinter is like? I’m melting.”

            “It’s different. It’s not a sandy wasteland for one.”

            The humidity of Tevinter was different than this dry blaze. Out here there was so little water it was amazing that something the size of a varghest could survive. He missed the lush vegetation and ancient architecture at home. The passion of the people, even if some of them directed that energy into terrible directions so much of the time.  Aside from the sand and wind that worked together to make each other more irritating it was nice to be someplace warm for a change. If he survived to see Corypheus defeated maybe he’d return to Tevinter for a visit. He could bask in the sunlight, eat food with flavor, and attend the theater. It would even be worth suffering through an inevitable family reunion. 

            “You love it and long for it, but it’s all snarled and tangled with sad and anger.”

            Dorian sighed. “Cole, I don’t wish to discuss this right now.”

            “I’m sorry. Varric has been explaining about things being private.”

            _Bless the dwarf_. It was true that under Varric’s patient care Cole had become better about refraining from announcing stray thoughts to the group. Sometimes you could almost have a whole conversation with him and forget that he was anything other than a young man with a strange sense of fashion.

            “You could help with the cooking,” Daylen said. “Maybe you’ll be able to figure out if there’s a way to make that thing edible.”

            Cole nodded. “I will try.”

            Daylen stepped under the awning and sat down next to him. Then proceeded to take off his shoes and pound the sand out of them with the heel of his palm.

            “It must be hard being out here.”

            “Oh it’s awful. Wind and sand that dry you out from the inside, followed by varghest for dinner,” Dorian said.

            He didn’t think that any amount of culinary expertise could make something edible out of that creature. It didn’t help that Blackwall’s main cooking technique involved throwing any meat on hand in a pot with water, salt, pepper, and a couple vegetables. Sometimes the stew was almost edible. One of these days he’d order spices from Tevinter to bring along for these trips.

            “I mean that it must make you miss home more.”

            Dorian shrugged. “Yes. I suppose. Warm thoughts of my homeland must seem strange considering why we’re out here in the first place.”

            “A handful of people from Tevinter started a cult. It doesn’t mean you can’t miss home.”

            If only there was that one problem with his home, as opposed to practically a stampede of them. “It certainly complicates things.”

            Daylen pulled his boots back on. “Complications and love favor one another’s company.”

            The nonchalance with which Daylen tossed about such observations always charmed and unnerved him in equal measure. _Love._ The word came to Daylen’s lips with such ease. It wasn’t that way for him. Love was the most dangerous of vulnerabilities. Find where your opponent’s heart lies and you know exactly where to stab. His parents shared only a distaste for one another's company. And until coming to the south it hadn’t ever occurred to him that such a thing should be unusual. A spouse could be liability enough without adding feelings to the mix. Declaring too much care for anyone or anything was as good as painting a target on the object of your affections.

            “Sorry. I didn’t meant to upset you."

            “I’m not upset,” Dorian said. “I’m _thinking_. Some of us like to do that on occasion.”

            Daylen laughed. “You say that as if I don’t spend all of my time thinking. There are lots of thoughts in my head right now. Like ones about the bath I’m going to take the minute we’re back in Skyhold.”

            “Make sure you write that down. It’ll be invaluable for future generations. Otherwise historians might think your thoughts were occupied by dull things like saving the world.”

            “You think? I should write something filthy. I could call it _The Chant of the Baths_.”

            Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’ve been reading too much heretical poetry.”

            “It’s not going to be a poem. It’ll be a detailed chronicle of events. Not sure if my vocabulary is sufficient to describe all the things I plan on doing with you when we get back. Might need your help with that.” Daylen eyes shone with mischief.

            “And will my contribution be listed in the acknowledgements?” he teased.

            “Even better. You can be my co-author. I’m open to suggestions for the plot.”

            “How generous of you.”

             Daylen grinned. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

            _That you are._ Aside from that bit of lyrium experimentation he couldn’t say that Daylen was the most adventurous partner. He lacked the imagination or perhaps more accurately an interest in some of the theatrics he’d engaged in with other men. Showing off wasn’t Daylen’s style and Dorian found that a refreshing change of pace. He never tired of the way Daylen simply dedicated his full attention to dissolving him into a quivering mess. Or the way he could startle a laugh out of him in the most unexpected moments. When they were tangled in each other everything else drifted away. Some nights Dorian would come up to find Daylen already half asleep and they’d simply lay next to each other before slipping into dreams. No matter what they did, Daylen delighted in his presence in a way that was an overwhelming pleasure all of its own.

            When Blackwall proclaimed the stew ready they gathered under the canopy to eat with the exception of Cole who climbed back into the tree to listen to birds too far away for the rest of them to see. He scooped up a bit of meat and mushy vegetable and took the plunge. His taste buds screamed in protest. In all his time in the south Dorian had never tasted anything as awful. Which was saying something considering some of the things he’d dined on before he’d sold his birthright. The stew had a strange oily texture and an aftertaste that resembled rotting fish. He took a sip of water to force back the nausea threatening to empty out his stomach.

            Iron Bull examined a spoonful with a lump of pale, jiggling, varghest meat. “Not bad. Tastes kind of like nug.”

            Blackwall grunted in response to the observation.  

            Dorian looked into his bowl and felt his stomach churn as much as it had when he’d crossed the Waking Sea. He looked over at Daylen. He could tell from his expression that for once they shared an opinion about the cuisine.

            “Nug?” Daylen said setting aside his bowl. “What an unfortunate comparison.” He went over to his pack and brought back a small pouch. He pulled a strip of jerky out of it with a practiced nonchalance.

            Dorian stared. “You’ve had that all this time?”

            ”An Inquisitor is always prepared for dire circumstances.” Daylen offered the dried strip of meat to Dorian.

            _That deserves a kiss_. It was only when Iron Bull hooted that he realized he’d actually acted on his thought. He’d never kissed Daylen in front of anyone else. He refused to acknowledge that that thing he’d done in front of Daylen’s uncle at the ball could be counted as one.

            Daylen grinned. “And to think I wasted time flirting when all I had to do was bring food.” He pulled out a cracker. “Dip that in some tea or you’ll break off those perfect teeth.”

            Blackwall coughed. “So…”

            Daylen laughed. “Sorry. Not enough for everybody. Besides, who am I to deprive you of exotic cuisine?”

            “I meant…Never mind…” Blackwall trailed off.

            Did Blackwall actually intend to voice some kind of objection right now? As much as Daylen had been respectful of his wishes to be discrete in public, it hadn’t escaped the attention of any of the other members of the inner circle that he often followed Daylen to his quarters and just as often left with him the next morning. If any of them objected they’d kept it to themselves until this point.

            “You have a question? Are you whiskers quivering with curiosity?” Dorian asked. He couldn’t help the bit of insecurity that crept out of him and into his tone.

            Daylen shoved him playfully. “Just because I can’t keep my eyes off you doesn’t mean everyone is watching us all the time. So…yes,” he turned to Blackwall. “Dorian and I are together.”

            How was it that Daylen could drain the tension and make him feel at ease with so little effort?

            “I was unsure if I’d heard the rumors correctly, Inquisitor. I didn’t mean to pry.” Blackwall turned back to his stew.

            Dorian raised an eyebrow, it seemed that he was doomed to being followed by rumors. After all this time he would have thought that people would find something else to discuss. He bit into the jerky. It was salty and dry, but a gourmet meal compared to the horrid thing Blackwall and Bull dared call stew.

            Daylen took out a piece for himself. “After everything we’ve been through together you can ask. It’s not prying. But tell me, are these rumors any good? Is there blood magic?”

            “Blood magic is old news,” Iron Bull said. “But Sera started a really good one about the two of you breaking Cullen’s desk. And since we can ask questions. Your hand, that thing where it glows and shakes. That have any other good uses?”

            Dorian groaned. Glad as he was that he’d taken the leap to show a bit of physical affection in front others, he didn’t think he was ready for bedroom or more likely out of the bedroom tips from Bull.

            “That’s a secret of the Inquisition,” Daylen joked. “And I didn’t mean those kinds of questions. Unlike a certain someone, we keep the door closed. It’s like a complex and flowery metaphor. No one else invited.”

            Iron Bull chuckled. “Don’t pretend I didn’t give you a couple new ideas.”

            “You did. All kinds of ideas about putting locks on doors and hanging more curtains,” Daylen said.

            “Think that would work in the stables?” Blackwall asked. “I don’t want to know what happened with my last carving. That was at least a month’s worth of work.”

            “Furrows, all that time alone gave you plenty of practice polishing wood. But you know what else is good? The ladies. Like Josephine. She’s your type, with ruffled skirts and everything. You could start by taking her for a walk in the gardens. She’d like that.”

            Blackwall and Bull launched into a lengthy back and forth on the subject. With wonder he realized that somehow Daylen had steered the conversation away from an interrogation he'd dreaded. He looked over at Daylen and received a wink in response. Some feeling, warm, bright, and unnameable swelled in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up a little tumble into the Fade. ;)


	33. In Which Daylen’s Memories Are Green

                As a templar recruit Daylen had studied sieges. There were lectures, markers on maps, and small scale demonstrations. And he’d been in more battles than he could count since becoming Inquisitor, but none of it had prepared him for the bloody chaos of Adamant. At the beginning he could hear it all, the clang and screech of swords meeting armor, the agonized howls of wounded soldiers, the screams of demons, and the boom of battering rams and ladders meeting ancient fortifications. And he could smell it too, sweat, burning flesh, blood, and damp earth disturbed by thousands of feet. Glass from tossed aside elfroot potions crunched beneath his feet. By the time he reached the gates it had turned into one indiscernible din, like the roar of a storm on the sea.

                Cullen approached him and he didn’t think he’d ever been more relieved to see another person in his entire life.

                “We’ve breached the gates! We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied as long as we can. Hawke’s already on the battlements.”

                Daylen’s knees felt weak at the harried expression on Cullen’s face. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. We’ll be fine.” _Sweet Maker, don’t make a liar out of me._

                 “We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” Cullen grasped his shoulder for a moment and then before he could protest pushed him on, through the gates.

                He lost all sense of time, exhaustion, or pain in the soaring rush of adrenaline. At times he swung his sword only to divert it at the last instant when he realized he faced an ally rather than a foe. Iron Bull led the charge, sweeping men and demons aside as if clearing a path through brush. Dorian followed, all flourish gone from his magic. Daylen and Cassandra shielded him from either side. At some point Hawke and Alistair joined their formation.

                When the dragon appeared, even Iron Bull staggered back from it. That was when he knew it was bad. It snapped up Clarel and tossed her with a shake of the head. She hit the ground limp. Daylen stepped in front of his companions as if somehow he could shield them all with his outstretched arms. He motioned for them to fall back.

                “Boss! Nothing but a fall behind us.”

                They backed up anyway. The dragon advanced. He could feel the humid breath bursting from its nostrils. Daylen readied himself, if he ran straight at it maybe he’d take it by surprise, maybe then the others would survive, maybe Corypheus wouldn’t win. The dragon stepped over Clarel and Daylen gripped his sword. He raised his foot to take a step forward. Clarel raised an arm. The world exploded.

                There wasn’t time to scream. He hurled himself to the side pulling Hawke along. A tip of the beast’s wing clipped his shoulder as it rushed past, scrambling for purchase on the trembling battlement. Through eyes watering with pain he saw it plunge into the dark abyss below.

                He forced himself up, wrenching Hawke by the arm. “Run!” He squinted through the stinging dust kicked up by crumbling stone. _Where were the others?_ “Run! It’s going to colla-“

                He found Dorian, their eyes met, and for a moment everything came to a standstill. Dorian’s lip quirked as if to smile, his eyes widened, and then he disappeared. Daylen’s knees gave out. He tumbled through the air with rocks and Hawke’s dust choked scream.

_There will be nothing left of him but a spattering of blood. They won’t know our bodies from the rubble._

Daylen flung out his arm, an absurd reflex in the face of such a fall. _He can’t die. I never told him that I-_ The anchor flared in his hand and he did the only thing there was left to do. He ripped a hole in the fabric of the world itself, right through to the other side.

                It was like tripping into a bowl of gelatin. Considering what the tales said had happened the last time anyone had physically entered the Fade he’d expected it to be a more unpleasant experience. His hand made contact with a moist rock and he fell face first into the soggy ground. _Okay. That hurt._ He struggled to his feet and looked up. _Dorian, Bull, Cassandra, Hawke, Alistair._ All of them had made it. _I actually did it._

                 Hawke braced herself on her staff in a coughing fit. She spat at the ground then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand leaving a trail of clean skin across her face. It almost looked like war paint. “Fuck.”

                Daylen hadn’t thought it possible for the two of them to ever be in perfect agreement.  _Yet here we are. The Fade is a magical place indeed._

                “You know,” Dorian said. “When I said any one of us would follow you into the Fade physically, I didn’t think you’d take us up on it.”

                “Neither did I.” Daylen looked around. This was absolutely incredible and terrifying _. We have to get out of here._

                Hawke squinted into the sky. _Did the Fade have a sky?_  “This isn’t what I remember of the Fade. They say you walked out of it in Haven. Is this what it was like?”

                Daylen shrugged. “Not a clue. I still don’t remember any of it.”

                “The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me.”

                Even in these circumstances Daylen couldn’t help but be amused. At least he had one mage that could be trusted at his side here. By the looks of it they'd need someone with more expertise than he had to offer in this area. “Since we haven’t landed among silks or gold, I suggest we get out of here. And fast.”

                “Great idea, Boss.” Iron Bull rubbed one of his horns. “This is shitty. We’re in the ass end of demon town. Everyone, if I get possessed, feint on my blind side, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open.”

                “We’ll keep it in mind,” Cassandra said wryly.

                Daylen pointed towards where he could see the telltale glow of a tear in the Fade. “I believe that’s our destination. Let’s stay awake.”

                Alistair grinned. “Is that a pun? That's one thing about hiding in a cave. There's no one to share puns with. But this is no dream. We’re here physically. That must be why everything is different.”

                “And they say wardens are all brawn and no brains,” Dorian quipped.

                Daylen took a breath and led them into the Fade. They fought of a handful of wraiths that seemed to stumble upon them more than seek them out. There were all kinds of strange objects scattered about. How had all of these things gotten here? Had they fallen in through other rifts or did they exit only in this place? And did anything really exist here in the sense that things existed on the other side of the Veil? He picked up a scrap of paper. It was a letter to the Maker from one of his soldiers. _We cannot win, but our distraction, our sacrifice may give the important people the chance to do what is necessary._ The words echoed in his mind over and over. He stopped picking things up after that.

                Dorian sighed. “My visits to the Fade are normally more pleasant. I don't usually wake up feeling the need to bathe. Usually, sometimes…well, never mind that.”

                “I’d love to hear all about those as soon as-“

                There was a figure ahead of them. A woman wearing a distinct set of robes.

                Alistair voiced his own thoughts. “By the Maker, could that be…?”

                The figure neared them her arms spread out, as if to embrace them. “I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion.”

                Daylen gripped his sword tighter. It would really be great if insane things stopped happening to him. He’d had enough bizarre events for several lifetimes. “Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?” _Or do we need to kill this thing?_

                “I...I don't know. It is said that souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but...We know that spirits lie. Be wary, Inquisitor.”

                “I was really hoping for more of a yes or no on that…”

                “I fear the Divine is indeed dead,” Alistair cut in. “It is likely we face a spirit...or a demon.”

                The figure tilted her head. The thing looked almost curious. “You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

                 “Really?” Hawke asked. “How hard is it to answer one question? I'm human and you are…”

                 It occurred to Daylen that once upon a time Hawke may have been more on the side of sassy than scary.

                 “I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

                 That was a troubling fact that he hadn’t had the time to properly examine. “And you know this how?”

                 “I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false calling that terrified the wardens into making such grave mistakes, its work.”

                At last the explanation that they’d been looking for all along. It wasn’t much of a comfort to know that they were about to face something that had gobbled up all of the terrors from recent events. There’d been plenty of those to feed it.

                “I would gladly avenge the insult this nightmare dealt my brethren.” Alistair growled.

                "Shut it, golden boy," Hawke snapped. "I'm not dying for your pathetic revenge."

                “This place of darkness is its lair. You may both have the chance to face it before you leave.”

 _Great._ He couldn’t have opened the Fade into one of Dorian’s castles. It just had to be the lair of a demon that ate nightmares. “Can you help us get out of here?”

                 “That is why I found you. When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything you must recover it.” She swept a hand and flickers of green light appeared scattered about around them. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.”

 _My memories are green?_ He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to get back whatever memories the demon had taken. It couldn’t be anything pleasant if the thing fed on fear and darkness. He sighed. Whatever the memories were they couldn’t possibly be worse than staying here forever. Daylen stepped toward the lights.

                 At first he saw only a blinding light and then the memory came back to him as if he were living through all of it again. Walking down that corridor in search of the damned meeting room they’d told him to go to. He’d never hear the end of it he was late again. A scream for help from behind one of the doors. The doors were heavy, no doubt reinforced with metal underneath the ornate wood. He pushed them open, leaned his head in and froze at the scene in front of him. A scattering of grey warden mages, Divine Justina floating in midair, and a horrid creature holding an orb. All of them turned to look at him and for a second he’d almost laughed at the comic coordination. Then Divine Justinia knocked that orb out of Corypheus’s hand and without thinking he’d picked it up. He blinked and he was back in the murky gloom of the Fade, looking at Divine Justinia, or maybe someone, _something,_ else.

                 “Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil. To use the anchor to enter the Fade and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the old gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead.”

                 An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. He felt like himself again. He’d never thought of himself as the Herald of Andraste, but his inability to remember how he’d acquired the mark on his hand had left a small seed of doubt. He wasn’t some chosen one. He was just an idiot. The kind of idiot who’d stumble into the middle of a blood magic ritual and then pick up the mysterious artifact at the center of it without a thought. Which, when he thought about it further, said things about his judgement that should concern anyone who currently followed him.

                  Daylen flexed his hand. “I knew Andraste didn’t do this.”

                  “Now you can be sure,” Justinia confirmed. “You cannot escape the lair of the nightmare until you regain all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.”

                  She disappeared from view as if she’d never been there at all.

                  “Well isn’t this a fucking picnic,” Hawke said.

                  Alistair raised an eyebrow. “You’ve something to say, Hawke?”

                  She tapped the ground with her staff. “Oh I was just wondering if you might be concerned about the grey wardens holding the Divine in that vision. They as good as killed her.”

                  Daylen stared. Had all of them seen his memory as well? He glanced at Dorian who gave him a sympathetic smile.

                  “I assumed he had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before,” Alistair said in clear surprise at Hawke’s tone. “Come, we can argue after we escape this dark place.”

                  “Oh we may do more than that,” Hawke said.

                  “For now how about we keep moving,” Daylen suggested.

                  He lead the group forward only partially paying attention to their discussion about what had just transpired. Whether or not that thing was the Divine it was helping them, which was good enough for him. It worried him more what else this nightmare may have taken from him. Perhaps it was the reason why he was able to sleep soundly most nights. Now that he thought about it, it really was a wonder he hadn’t had a nervous breakdown with everything that had happened. His childhood of needing rescue from trees didn’t speak to an unusual reserve of bravery.              

                   “Ah we have a visitor!” The voice boomed from around them startling him. “Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger. What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”

 _Shit._ He shook his head. This was exactly the sort of thing demons did. They got in your head and made you doubt yourself so you wouldn’t notice when they tried to kill you.

_Daylen. Daylen. Do you remember when they sang? When they kneeled before you? They believe you are the Herald of Andraste. They think you are their savior. They trust you with their lives. But you know the truth, do you not? You know that you cannot save any of them. They follow you to their death. You will be their undoing._

                    A hand squeezed his shoulder for a brief moment. He looked for its owner and found Dorian observing him with perfect calm. It was all he needed to pull his attention away from the demon's whispering. There would be time later to think about those words, for now he only had to focus on getting all of them out of here alive. That he’d pulled them all physically into the Fade couldn’t go to waste.

                     Cassandra pointed with her sword. “What are those things?”

 _Spiders?_ He blinked. It was true that they were large, but of all the things he’d encountered they really weren’t high up on his list of things to fear. They scurried toward them. He swung his shield at the first one, sending it flying back.

                     The demon’s laugh echoed around them. “Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition. Greetings, Dorian...it is Dorian, isn't it? For a moment, I mistook you for your Father. How easily you give into the temptation of believing that your childish fantasizes could come true. Who do you think gave you this gift? Who do you think swallowed their fears? How else could they come to trust a Tevinter?"

                     “Rather uncalled for,” Dorian said, his tone casual as he plunged his staff blade into a spider.

                     Daylen almost dropped his sword. Fear washed over him. An absurd terror at the thought of falling out of a tree. Cassandra came to his rescue smashing the spider attempting to chew off his leg. And he could remember learning that he would leave home to train to become a templar. A crippling fear of the unknown and possibilities taken away. He forced himself to focus on the battle again. Every dying spider brought back some old memory of a terror that he’d long pushed past.

                     “Hawke!” the demon spoke again. “Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city, how could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure and your family died knowing it. They call you Champion. But did you not sell the one who served at your side? Were you not glad for the coin he brought you? Deep down you regret only that you didn't demand a higher reward.”

                     “Well, this is growing tiresome rather quickly.” Hawke incinerated the last spider.

                     Daylen swallowed past the memory of receiving a letter from home informing him his cousin hadn’t survived her Harrowing. He’d realized then that if he’d been a couple years older the task of killing her might have fallen to him. That one day he might be tasked with doing just that to who knew how many mages, and that their families would get letters just like that one. He wiped at sweat streaming down his face.

                      Hawke grinned. “Don’t care for spiders?

                      “Something like that,” Daylen said and headed toward the green glow of memories ahead before he could change his mind.

                      He was in the Fade. Running for his life from the hoard of demons after him. And Divine Justinia sacrificed herself so that he could escape. He blinked and there she was in front of him again. Or rather something resembling her, because it was impossible that she had survived that swarm.

                      “It was you,” he said. “They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me. And then you... she died.”

                      The thing stared back at him. “Yes.”

                      “Are you a memory a reflection of some kind?” Daylen asked.

                      “If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one.”

                      “What we do know,” Hawke said pointed an accusing finger at Alistair. “Is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple thanks to the grey wardens.”

                      “As I said,” Alistair said. “The grey wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant.”

                      Hawke laughed. “Discuss? Oh yes, I suppose we can. Assuming that the wardens and their demon army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we were gone.”

                      “How dare you judge us? You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!”

                      “To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic. But you'd ignore that because you can't imagine a world without the wardens. Which is what we really need!” Hawke shoved her staff in Alistair's face.

                      Daylen launched himself between them. Of all times to have this little debate they had to do it in the middle of demon’s lair. “Enough! We can argue after we’re out of here.”

                      “I second that, Boss.” Iron Bull said.

                      Daylen had almost forgotten he was with them, he’d been so silent the entire time.

                      “The demon has found us.” Divine Justinia exploded into a golden light.

                      “Form up,” Daylen ordered. 

                      “Do you think you can fight me? I am your ever fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army your fear? I command it. They are bound all through me.”

                      “Ah so if we banish you we banish the demons?” Divine Justinia’s voice echoed around them. “Thank you, every fear come to life.”

                      The demon roared in outrage. Daylen took advantage of its distraction to rush forward. He could hear the pounding of feet behind him as the others followed.

                      “You must get through the rift, Inquisitor. Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons…and exile the cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

                      “The rift! We’re almost there!” Hawke shouted.

 _How nice of you to point that out for the demon._ Cassandra and Iron Bull overtook him, running straight toward a mountain. Except it wasn’t a mountain. It was an enormous spider.

                       “Leave it! Get out! Everyone out!” Daylen shouted. They would never be able to defeat that thing here in the Fade.

                       “If you would, please tell Leliana. ‘I am sorry. I failed you too.'”

                       Daylen tucked that message far back in his mind. Cassandra and Iron Bull disappeared out through the tear in the veil. He spun around. Dorian was right on his heels but Hawke and Alistair had somehow gotten trapped with the demon between them and escape. _No._  This wasn’t happening again. Enough people had died for him.

                       “Dorian, get out of here.”

                       “I’m not leaving you he-“

                       “Go!” He didn’t wait for Dorian to obey. He simply used all of the strength he could muster to slam into him. Daylen had enough time to see Dorian’s eyes widen with shock as the force of the impact threw him back and out of the Fade.

                       He turned back intending to distract the demon by striking at it from behind.

                       Alistair was shouting something at Hawke. And then Hawke lifted her staff and Daylen was sure that she was about to do something stupid and heroic. That she’d run at the demon and plunge her staff into one of its eyes. Instead she lifted her staff and blasted Alistair straight in the center of his chest and ran, ran under the demon, past him, and out of the Fade. Alistair collapsed to his knees, a confused supplicant facing the wrong way before the demon’s limbs, his sword slipped from his grasp. And then in the deafening silence, Alistair disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So somehow this chapter became huge and it's a moment from the events of the fight against Corypheus. Oops!
> 
> As always thank you for the kudos and comments! :)


	34. In Which Dorian is Called Dorian

                “Go!”

                Dorian knew that Daylen was strong. He’d seen him in battle, hacking a demon’s head clean off its shoulders with a single swipe of the sword. He'd seen him moving rubble with workers at Skyhold. On occasion, he felt a fraction of that strength when Daylen rolled him over in bed or playfully shoved him after some joke. But that hadn’t prepared him for being on the other end of Daylen intentionally slamming into him. It sent him sprawling in a haze of pain. His entire right side went numb as if he'd frozen it solid. The next thing he saw was the green crackle of the Fade. Everything in his stomach roiled the way it had when he’d fallen off the battlements earlier, but he wasn’t moving. His head cracked against something solid and the flash of agony that accompanied it brought with it the realization that he’d fallen through the Veil, right back to Adamant.

                “Sparkler!”

                Someone hooked their arms under his own and dragged him away from the rift through rubble, dust, and muck. _I’ll have to throw out these robes. There’s going to be no cleaning them now._

                “We have to go back,” he croaked. When had his voice gone dry? He’d been speaking just fine a moment ago.

                “Dear, you _are_ back.” Vivienne appeared in his field of vision. Her horned helmet sat crooked on her head.  “Let me look at you. You’re bleeding.”

                Didn’t any of them realize what was going on? They were talking as if Daylen wasn’t still physically in the Fade, battling against a demon the size of his parents’ estate in Qarinus.  

                “I'm fine.” He tried to fend her off but found that Cassandra and Bull were each holding onto one of his arms. “We need to go back.”

                Iron Bull tightened his grip. “You can’t go back.”                     

                Dorian whipped back toward the rift ignoring the way the rapid movement made his head swim. It didn’t make any sense. Where was Daylen? He was the only one who could close a rift. It wasn’t an option for him to stay behind. _He must have crossed when I looked away._

                He let himself relax and touched a hand to his head. It came away slick with blood. “Where’s Daylen?”

                They leaned him against a bit of wall and Varric appeared in front of him.

                “Dorian, he might not-“

                It was so strange to hear Varric using his name. Had he ever called him anything other than Sparkler? _What is he going on about? Who might not what?_ His eyes strayed to take in the wreckage surrounding them. Corpses of Inquisition soldiers, grey wardens, and demons jumbled together among discarded weapons and armor. Everything smelled burnt and electric as if hundreds of mages had joined powers to scorch the whole area.

                “Darling, let me see your head,” Vivienne said. “It’s a miracle the rest of you made it out.”

                “I should have stayed behind. I-failed.” Cassandra let go of his arm. He found he didn’t have the strength to hold it up on his own so it fell to the ground, sending a jolt through his left side. It surprised him that he could still feel pain.        

                “Don’t say that, dear. To walk physically in the Fade and survive- That alone… We must- The Inquisitor wouldn’t want-”

                “As if you’d know what the Inquisitor would want!” Cassandra slipped into a tone of righteous indignation that she normally reserved for rousing speeches at the War Table.

                “He’s dead. Boss, wouldn’t want us standing around arguing. There are demons we have to-“

                _Dead._ It was really too funny. He couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of him. Daylen was dead. Simply hilarious. Just a few days ago he’d been unsure about his feelings. And now he knew. He was in love. And Daylen was dead. He was in love with a corpse. Except, there wasn’t even a corpse left to love. He knocked away Vivienne’s hand, still shaking with laughter. He tipped over and tried to brace himself with an elbow, unable to stop the amusement that gripped him.  

                “What’s wrong with him? Frigging demon shite! He’s possessed, isn’t he?”

                “He’s not possessed, idiotic girl. He’s in shock.”

                He watched Vivienne struggling to keep Sera from rushing toward him. Somehow that only made him laugh so much harder. He lay down on his side and held onto his aching stomach. He knew Daylen would see how funny this was if he were alive. The regal Vivienne, forgetting her magic and attempting to fend off Sera with physical strength alone. His vision swam. When had it started raining? There was water all over his face, but the ground still felt dry.

                Everything turned blurry and spun. Something was making a horrid high pitched sound that everyone else ignored, as if it were perfectly normal. Darkness started to swallow the edges of his vision. He found he didn’t really mind. There was a flash of green. He let himself crash straight into the jaws of whatever strange beast had followed him from the Fade. And then, there was nothing.

                When he could see again his head was pounding and everything felt fuzzy. Canvas stretched above him. _So, you’re in a tent. Alive. Pity._

                “His eyes are open. I’ll get him.” _Cassandra._

                Someone was holding his hand. “Magey pants. Look at me.”

                He forced his eyes to follow the sound and focus on the face at his side. _Hello Sera, you wonderful little tempest._

“You hit your head real good. Ruined your fancy robes. Blood all over. But Solas fixed you up. You’ll be fine.”

                _Fine? No. There is no fine after this._

                “He’ll be back soon. Had to go check with Cullen about the soldiers.”

                Did she actually think he cared about robes or what Solas did? He closed his eyes. Maybe if he did that the darkness would take him back and he wouldn’t have to lay here and listen to people tell him things would be fine. It would be like this from now on. A constant parade of voices saying it would all be fine, as if repeating it enough times could somehow make that true. Sera let go of his hand.

                He’d never been to a funeral before. Not even in Tevinter. They burned bodies on pyres here in the South. A barbaric custom by Tevinter standards. Not that it really mattered when there wasn’t a body, he supposed. Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana would come up with the best way to present what had happened. They’d find a way to explain away the death of the Herald of Andraste. Gone to join her side, he told us we could carry on from here, or some such nonsense. No one would know that he’d died ripped to shreds by a giant spider. He could hear Varric now. _That’s not the kind of story people want to hear, Sparkler. They want a little romance, a little hope, something glamourous._

Cold seeped through the thin blanket thrown over him and for once he didn’t mind. The time for idle complaints was gone. Sooner or later he’d have to get up and confront reality. The Inquisition would need him. Somewhere out there Corypheus had no doubt started his celebration. He’d be at his most vulnerable now. Overconfidence would make him sloppy. He’d see him defeated or die trying. He truly had nothing left to lose.

                There was rustling in the tent and he prayed that it was Sera leaving him alone. If the Maker heard him, he didn’t grant his wish. Hands cradled his face. _What a strange way to check a head wound._ He opened his eyes to point this out and couldn’t comprehend what he saw. This was really too cruel. It was Daylen. But Daylen was dead.

                “Hey there,” not Daylen said.

                “You’re-“ He found that his voice didn’t want to obey him.

                “Shh. Don’t talk. Let me get you some water.”

                Not Daylen propped him up and pushed a cup to his lips. He drank. How had he never appreciated water before? It had always ranked so low on his list of preferred beverages. Not Daylen helped him lay back down again and gently brushed his hair away from where it had stuck to his forehead. He watched the demon. It had to be powerful to have captured Daylen’s likeness so well.

                “You gave me a real scare.”

                And then he knew that it wasn’t some cruel demonic trick. Only Daylen could stay behind in the Fade and then do something as ridiculous as accuse _him_ of causing a scare.

                “Amatus, you don’t know the meaning of scare.”

                Daylen leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I almost smashed this magnificent head to pieces.”

                So the dull throbbing wasn’t some aftereffect from his travel through the Veil. Just the normal result of being hurled against some boring bit of rock. “The head isn’t the worry. It’s the hair.”

                “Your hair is perfect. Every single hair and toe.”

                “Toe?” he croaked. “There’s a toe on my head? Remind me to kill Solas.”

                Daylen laughed, eyes turning glassy. “What would I do without you?”

                “Suffer a dull existence.”

                He let his eyes droop closed for a moment but forced them open when he heard movement. His heart skipped a beat when he couldn’t find Daylen next to him. _No. It couldn’t have been a dream._ He struggled to sit up.

                “More water?” Daylen reappeared with another blanket in hand.

                Dorian shook his head and lay back down as Daylen tucked the extra blanket around him. _It wasn’t a dream. He’s alive._ He had to tell him now. Before he lost his nerve and forgot just how close he’d come to never having the chance.

                “Amatus.”

                “Yes?”

                “No. I mean- Amatus. It doesn’t mean-“

                “I love you too.”

                Dorian could only stare.  

                “I found out what it really means the first day.”

                He couldn’t believe it. All of this time he’d been agonizing over something that had already happened. A million questions surfaced, but he brushed all of them away. Sera had been right after all. He would be fine.

                “I hate you, Amatus.”

                Daylen smiled. “I’m a lucky man.”

                He reached up to wipe a tear that had escaped from the corner of Daylen’s eye. “You’ll drip all over my pillow.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d never thought keeping them open could require as much effort as fighting a group of pride demons. “I’ll forgive it.”

                Another kiss on his forehead. “Sleep. I’ll be right here.”

                Fingers ran through his hair coxing him back into the darkness, this time quiet and warm. He let himself slip into it, confident that when he emerged he’d find Daylen next to him, ridiculous, infuriating, and very much alive.


	35. In Which Daylen Lies

                Daylen entered the War Room. For once he’d been the one to insist that they have a meeting as soon as possible after their return to Skyhold. He didn’t want to sleep anyway. Ever since his return from the Fade his nights were plagued with nightmares. They stumbled over one another until everything become an incoherent mess of fear and confusion. Along with his fears he’d found a renewed sense of determination. He’d never believed that Andraste had saved him, but he realized that despite it he’d been little more than a passive observant, pulled along by the currents of the Inquisition. All of this time he’d been waiting for someone to tell him how to move forward. Now, he knew that he had to be the one to make the way. Lives depended on it. Adamant had shown him that all too clearly.

                He didn’t take his usual seat to the side and instead stood by the table where he could see the whole map littered with markers. With mild surprised he took in the massive amount of territory they now influenced. If they survived this battle, they’d be a force to contend with.

                Leliana entered the room and took her usual spot on the other end of the table.

                “Thank you for coming early. I have something we need to discuss before the others arrive.”

                “Of course, Inquisitor.”

                “First, I have a message for you,” Daylen said, suddenly remembering the promise he’d made. “It’s from Divine Justina.”

                Leliana’s eyes widened. “Divine Justinia?”

                He didn’t know how to explain what had happened in the Fade. “As best I can explain it. Maybe it wasn’t her exactly. It might have been a memory or a spirt. She wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she failed you too.”

                “That- I don’t understand.”

                Daylen sighed. “Neither do I. Perhaps with time you’ll figure it what it means. There’s a more pressing matter that we need to deal with. Hawke.”

                Leliana didn’t skip a beat at the sudden change of topic. “One of the soldiers claimed that she healed him, then walked away without another word. My scouts have heard rumor of a woman matching her description seeking passage to Weisshaupt.”

                When he’d stepped out of the Fade, his every thought had been directed at following Hawke. Then he’d seen Dorian laying on the ground with his hair looking completely wrong. Only later did he realize that it was because of all the blood. His thoughts had flittered away like startled birds. He’d been sure that in trying to protect Dorian, he’d sent him back to his death. Later, sitting in the tent next to Dorian while he slept, he’d had time to remember what had happened in the Fade. The events echoed in his head over and over. Every time he thought of some new they might have all escaped if not for Hawke. Now that he’d had more time to think about it, he knew what had to be done. He dreaded doing it.

                “I’m going to tell you what really happened in the Fade and then I’m going to tell you what we’re going to tell everyone else.”

                Leliana raised her eyebrows. “This is most unlike you, Inquisitor. Tell me what happened.”

                “Hawke killed Alistair. She pushed him into the grasp of a demon and ran.”

                “Dear Maker.” Leliana held a hand to her mouth as if to keep emotion from escaping. “I had hopes that the reports I heard were wrong…That’d he’d survived.” She stepped away from the table and paced back and forth a couple times. “He was a wonderful boy.”

                “He was hardly a boy,” Daylen observed.

                Leliana smiled wistfully. “He seemed little more than that when we first met. Though he was never the same after the Blight. I do not think he ever forgave the Hero of Ferelden for sacrificing herself. May the Maker grant them both the peace they did not find in this life.”

                Daylen nodded, although he wasn’t sure how much the Maker had to do with any of it.

                “And what is it the tale you wish the people to hear, Inquisitor?”

                “That Alistair made a hero’s sacrifice to save our lives. As for Hawke… we will say that after helping us she went her own way. Our involvement with her is done. We’ve no obligation to keep anyone informed of her whereabouts or activities.”

                Leliana sighed. “It is the right decision, Inquisitor. News of this would upset our fragile alliance with the grey wardens. And the people are already hesitant of the mages we have allowed into our ranks as equals. If they were to learn that a blood mage killed Alistair… There is no predicting what might result.”

                Daylen nodded his glum agreement. He wanted to tear Thedas apart searching for Hawke so that she could be brought to justice. Yet doing so would do irreparable harm to their unity against Corypheus and risked destroying more lives in the process. “Do you think you can find out what she’s doing?”

                “It pains me to admit it, but we are outmatched. She is one woman, travelling through war torn countryside filled with refugees. To track her would require a shift in resources that we cannot afford, and even then… Cassandra and I gave everything to find Hawke before the Conclave with no success. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

                Daylen sighed. Once the people heard this tale there would be no going back. Even if years from now he found Hawke, he’d never be able to bring her to justice. The history books would say that the Champion helped the Inquisitor and fought at his side. With great effort he pushed that from his mind. If he didn’t do this there’d be no one left alive to read the tales of what had happened, true or not.

                Once the others arrived he lied. It was easy enough. Alistair had offered to stay behind to protect them. He’d escaped with Hawke and now that she’d done her part she’d moved onto something else, he wasn’t sure of the details. No one questioned his version of events. They arranged for a celebration to honor Alistair, one that would give the soldiers a chance to rest and grieve before the battles ahead.

                After the meeting Daylen went out into the garden. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How many times had he sought a moment of peace and quiet out here? He smiled, remembering the night he’d first kissed Dorian in this very spot.

                “So Alistair is dead.” It fascinated him that Morrigan could look simultaneously bored to death and alert as a cat stalking its prey. And she seemed to share his fondness for the gardens. Even on the coldest days he'd sometimes spot her sitting on a bench, seemingly doing nothing of importance. Although he doubted that Morrigan ever did anything she didn't consider important. 

                “Yes. I’m sorry. I know you fought alongside him during the Blight.”

                “For a time, though we were hardly friends. ‘tis fitting that he died in a foolhardy if heroic fashion. That was his way.”

                “If I wasn't already familiar with the perils of warping time, I'd give anything  for a chance to go back and save him.”

                Morrigan waved his comment away as if it were a speck of dust in her field of vision. “Considering the end that normally awaits a grey warden, he did well. Did you think that you could step into the Fade and pay no price? No matter. While we prattle on Corypheus prepares.”

                “Our sources say his forces are moving toward the Arbor Wilds. There are elven structures in the region. We can’t be sure. But that seems a likely reason for his interest.”

                “He seeks an eluvian.”

                “A what?”

                “To the unobservant ‘t would seem nothing more than a mirror. To those with a key, it is a door into another realm.”

                “Another realm? You mean the Fade?” Daylen wished that Dorian were awake so that he could ask him to join this meeting. When it came to magic and the Fade he felt utterly lost. Not for the first time he wondered why templars never spent time studying magical theory. As a recruit he'd trained to subdue mages and to fight them, but he'd never really understood magic. 

                Morrigan shook her head. “No. Not the Fade. Another place. A place in between, a crossroads of sorts. Corypheus intends to use it to enter the Fade. It is the only way to accomplish such a thing. Without your anchor that is.”

                “Very well. We’ll take a few days to rest and prepare. Then we go to find this magic mirror.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you all for the kudos and lovely comments!


	36. In Which Dorian Throws a Cookie

                Dorian wanted to feel content and grateful. They’d survived Adamant. Daylen was alive. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy the fantastic stroke of luck that now had him laying comfortably in a luxurious bed being waited on hand and foot by the man he loved. But he wasn’t content or grateful. He was furious. Every time Daylen fluffed his pillow he had to resist the urge to scream. And when Daylen brought him food it took all the self-control he possessed to keep from splashing Daylen in the face with the lukewarm tea and hurling the tray across the room. His fingers twitched, just waiting for his command to blast the room to pieces. But since he was still incapable of finding the words he’d need to explain such actions, he suffered in silence under Daylen’s unwaveringly patient care.

                 He didn’t know what made him angrier. Was it that Daylen had pushed him ahead as if he were some fragile damsel in need of protecting? Was it that Daylen’s misguided attempt to save him had almost turned him into a turnip? Or was it that he’d let Dorian believe he’d lost the chance to tell him how much he cared forever? These questions churned in his head like a nest of hornets struck with a stick.

                 When at last he could get up and walk a few steps without fainting and Daylen had left to attend a War Room meeting, he stumbled over to the bookcase in search of something that could distract him. He pulled a book off the shelf at random. _Malefica Imperio._ Trite propaganda. He tossed it over his shoulder not caring that it sent the papers on the desk behind him flying. Why did Daylen have such a pathetic collection of books when he knew that Dorian was up here, bored out of his mind? At the very least he could have brought up something by Genitivi.

                He heard the door open and then footsteps on the stairs.

                “Need some help?” Daylen asked cheerfully.

                “Your selection of books is deplorable.”

                “Ah. That’s the Dorian I know. You must be feeling better if you’re already critiquing every book in my collection. I can get you something from the library. Just tell me what you‘d like.”

                “What I’d like?” Dorian spun around, book in hand. He could feel his eyes bulging. “What I’d like? What I’d like is to throw this tome about Divine Galatea’s Sunday shits right at your head. But seeing as cracking open heads seems to be _your_ specialty, I think I’ll just put it on the desk.”

                Daylen stared at him, frozen in the middle of the room. “Dorian- I- I’ve told you already I’m so sorry. You know that if I could do it over again I wouldn’t have pushed you that hard.”

                “That hard!” He hadn’t realized his voice could reach that volume. “You had no business pushing me out in the first place!”

                “You weren’t moving. What was I supposed to do?”

                “You were supposed to let me stay at your side!”

                “It wasn’t _your_ fight. You can’t risk yourself on my-“

                He slammed the book down on the desk. “It _was_ my fight! I have every bit as much right to fight as you do. I’m a crucial member of the Inquisition. Isn’t that what you told me? Or was that all talk? Am I just an ornament upon your arm now? Look at the pretty Tevinter! Don’t touch him or he’ll break!”

                “Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive,” Daylen said crossing his arms.

                Why did it anger him more that Daylen wasn’t yelling back at him?

                “Keeping me alive? You were dead! You pushed me out of the Fade and then didn’t follow! I was out there with my head cracked open and you were dead! Do you know what I was thinking about? I was thinking we didn’t have a corpse for your funeral!”

                Daylen’s face flushed. “I thought I’d _killed_ you. I came out of the Fade and you were on the ground. Pale as a ghost. In a pool of blood! Everyone was standing around you yelling like you were too far gone to help!”

                “I wouldn’t have been passed out in a pool of blood if you hadn’t bashed my head against a rock!"

                “How many times must I say I’m sorry?” Daylen asked throwing his hands in the air.

                “Kaffas! I don’t know!” He gripped the chair by the desk and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. He forced his voice to return to a conversational volume. “I’m so angry, that I can barely breathe.”

                They stood that way for a while, him holding onto the chair and Daylen standing in the center of the room his hands hanging limp at his sides.

                “I’m sorry.”

                The words made his blood boil all over again. He looked up to meet Daylen’s eyes. “Say that like you _mean_ it. Say that if you could go back you’d have let me stay at your side. Promise me that you’ll never do something like that again.”

                “Dorian,” Daylen pleaded. “I can’t lie to you.”

                “Get out.”

                Daylen stared at him in bewilderment. “What?”

                “I said get out.” He pointed toward the stairs. “I can’t storm out down all those steps. You’ll have to at least do me the courtesy of getting out of my sight.”

                “Dorian, let’s just talk about-“

                “No! Amatus, I swear if you don’t get out of my face this instant I’m going to- I don’t know what I’ll do.”

                Daylen gave him a pained look and then without another word turned and walked out. He waited until he heard the door close behind him to hobble back to the bed. He lay down and tried to calm himself over the thudding in his ears. When his breathing had returned to normal he realized that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Daylen was supposed to have brought up his food by now. _Perfect._ He would be stuck up here with nothing but his thoughts for dinner.

                He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind. Ever since his return from the Fade he’d been thinking about what the demon had said, that he gave into temptation easily. It was true. It would be so easy for him to stand back and let Daylen do all the work, to live in his shadow and simply enjoy the benefits. To give up his part in this battle, or any other. It terrified him to think that Daylen might never object to such an arrangement. That he might even approve of what he saw as his own worst qualities. He didn't want someone content to let him stay behind, sharing only a bed and sweet nothings. He wanted a partner.

                When had he grown bold enough to even think of demanding such things? A couple months ago he'd have been content with someone who wouldn't avoid eye contact come daylight.  _Careful, Pavus. If you think about this too much you'll discover you've grown as a person. Then where will you be?_

                Someone opened the door with the boom of a kick. Had Daylen decided to come back and continue this? He fell back against the pillows in resignation.

                “Magey pants! You wearing pants? I’m coming up.”

                _Thank you, Maker._

                Sera appeared at the top of the stairs with a tray of food. “They wouldn’t let me bring you wine. Some shite about your health. But sour puss gave me a book for you and I made cookies.”

                It was a vicious lie that his eyes actually glazed over on hearing this news. “Thank you.”

                She set the tray on his lap, looked around the room, and flapped a hand at the books and papers still scattered across the floor. “You redecorating?”

                He smiled weakly. “You could call it that.”

                Without waiting for an invitation Sera clambered over him to sprawl out on the other side of the bed. After a few seconds she sat up, pounded at the generous pile of pillows, wiggled her back into them and turned to look at him. “If I stuck an arrow in his arse, would it help?”

                “Very kind of you to offer. But I don’t think it would. There aren’t enough arrows in Thedas.”

                “Well shite. Maybe try a cookie.”

                He picked one up off the tray and examined it. It looked delicious, but was disproportionately heavy for its size. “I didn’t know it was possible to be this angry. I want push him off the balcony and never let him out of my sight again. All at the same time.”

                “Well of course you do, you big dummy. That’s love, innit?”

                “Is that was this is? Think there’s a cure for it?” He sighed and bit into the cookie. It was like trying to chew on a rock. He forced the piece he’d cracked off down his throat. It was awful.

                “Could always try shagging your brains out.”

                “I already _have_ a head injury.”

                “I was there when sour puss fixed you up, remember? Your tool’s fine. You don’t need your head.” She paused with a thoughtful expression. “Well not _that_ head.”

                He threw the rest of the cookie at her head.

                Sera rubbed at her temple with a scowl. “Ow! Whacha do that for? Gonna get yourself off throwing shite around instead? That some kind of kinky Tevinter thing?”

                He groaned. “I beg you. Talk to me about anything else.”

                “Wanna hear about how I rigged Josephine’s door with a bucket of water?”

                “Nothing would make me happier.”


	37. In Which Daylen is Trapped

                Daylen went down the staircase and out into the great hall. After Dorian’s sudden explosion he thought he had a pretty good idea of what it would feel like to get hit with one of the bombs Sera used in battle. Up until a few minutes ago he would have sworn that the roar of a dragon was the most terrifying sound he’d heard. Now he wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t the yelling. It was the perfect calm with which Dorian had ordered him to leave. It was like a sudden calm in the middle of a storm that wasn’t over.   

                He’d expected that Dorian would eventually be furious with him for nearly splattering his brains all over Adamant. It was almost a relief to be yelled at for it. He’d been prepared to apologize for it a thousand times and then some more. Maybe if he apologized enough he’d rid himself of the nagging sense of guilt that followed him, not that it had worked thus far. What he hadn’t expected was that Dorian would demand an apology for pushing him to safety to begin with. For that, he couldn’t apologize. It would be a complete lie. If he had the moment to do over again, he would do the same. He wouldn’t have used as much force. But he would still push Dorian to safety. He couldn’t apologize for that. Could he?

                Out of habit he made his way to the kitchens to fetch Dorian’s dinner. He finished assembling a tray then realized that he’d just promised to stay away. The couple minutes it had taken him to sneak the best pieces of food out from under the cook’s nose didn’t seem a sufficiently long break. He couldn't ask a kitchen worker to deliver it. It would only annoy Dorian more if he did anything that might encourage tales about the disheveled Tevinter dining in the Inquisitor's bed. His dilemma didn't last long. Sera walked in, no doubt with mischief in mind.

               “Sera. Could you bring this up to Dorian?”

                She raised an eyebrow. “Sick of playing nurse?”

                Of all the closest members of the Inquisition, Sera seemed the least interested in his miraculous return from the Fade. She did take a lot of interest in the fact that he’d smashed Dorian’s head open. It was a relief to be around someone who didn’t look at him as if he held answers to questions about the Fade and Maker and who knew what else.

                “It’s not that. I may have er- upset Dorian. He needs a break from my attention.”

                She took the tray from him and scrutinized it. “Tea? Least you could do is find one of your fancy wines or some such.”

                “He can’t have wine. He’s still recovering from blood loss. Whatever ancient spell work Solas did seems to be less effective when it comes to that. Thankfully they’ve improved them since then or else I’d be dead a hundred times over.”

                Sera scowled. “Magical shite.”

                At least they could agree on that much. He gave a noncommittal shrug and walked outside trusting her with the task of keeping Dorian fed and entertained. A miserable drizzle had crept into Skyhold. The courtyard was deserted except for the lone soldiers on guard duty. Not even Cassandra was outside training. With resignation he went to the tavern. Maybe there’d be a game of Wicked Grace that he could join to pass the time.

                Varric wasn't at the Herald's Rest and the Chargers were still on a mission to help with the destruction of Adamant. As packed as the room was with soldiers seeking a dry place to pass the time, it felt empty. Iron Bull sat at the bar, strangely out of place from his usual seat in the corner. He had two mugs in front of him, a necessity ever since Sera had stolen the much larger mug he’d brought with him to Skyhold and used it as a makeshift rat trap that had somehow exploded.

                Daylen took a seat next to him.

                “Boss, need a drink?” Bull slid one of his mugs toward him.

                “Thanks.” Daylen accepted it with a strong hope it was nothing more than the watered down beer offered to everyone else. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he drank down an entire mug of the stuff that could make Bull tipsy.

                “So, what’s the matter?”

                Daylen took a cautious sip from the mug. “Are your spy skills failing you or are you being polite?”

                “Makes conversation awkward if I don’t ask.”

                “Go right ahead,” Daylen said in resignation.

                “Why’d you ask Dorian to join the Inquisition?”

                It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. He remembered Cassandra turning red with anger at the prospect of an unknown Tevinter mage joining the Inquisition without her say. “Ask him to join? He swept through the doors of the War Room without invitation and announced his intention to stay and defeat Corypheus.”

                Bull grinned. “Tells you everything you need to know, doesn’t it?”

                “Meaning?”

                "That sound to you like a man content to stay safely at home?”

                He knew this was the part where he had to admit that he saw Bull’s point. Dorian had joined of his own free will, intent on battling Corypheus. He hadn’t been thrust into this by circumstance or accident. _They should’ve made him Inquisitor. He'd definitely look better sitting on that ridiculous throne._ He never knew how to arrange his limbs on that thing. 

                “Under all that bluster he’s gentle, and he cares,” Bull observed. “You’re good for each other, Boss. Don’t ruin what you have by longing for him to change.”

                It unnerved him how easily Bull saw past walls carefully built around secrets. If he ever joined forces with Leliana he shuddered to think of the power they’d wield. Still, this sort of sappiness wasn’t what he’d expected.  “You’ve been reading Cassandra’s romance novels, haven’t you?”

                Bull shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a good fantasy.”

                “Speaking of Cassanda. Have you seen her?”

                “Beat me with a stick this morning. Now she’s praying.”

                Daylen choked on his beer. “She what?”

                Bull grinned. “Don’t worry, Boss. I asked for it.”

                “Dare _I_ ask?”

                “Some pray. I prefer something more… _physical_.”

                With a laugh, Daylen raised a hand in protest at hearing any more of the story. He pushed the remained of his beer back toward Bull and stood up. He’d been meaning to check on Cassandra. Seeing the Divine in the Fade had been shocking enough for him and he’d only seen the Divine once before her death.

                “Thanks, Bull.”

                “Anytime, Boss.”

                He made his way back through the courtyard, to the small room that served as Skyhold’s Chantry. In all the time they’d been here he’d never seen anyone but Mother Giselle and Cullen enter it. He pushed the door open to find Cassandra kneeling in front of Andraste’s statue, head bowed.

                “Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the…”

                The door clanged shut behind him and he winced as the noise echoed through the small room.

                Cassandra shot up and turned to face him. “Inquisitor! Is something wrong?”

                “I didn’t mean to disturb your prayer. I just… thought you might want some company.”

                “Oh.” Her shoulders sagged with obvious relief as she walked over to one of the pews and indicated it with a hand.

                He took a seat next to her and watched the candles burning at Andraste’s feet. It had always struck him as strange that no one seemed bothered by the irony of keeping open flames at the feet of someone who’d been burned to death. Or maybe it was intended that way, some kind of gruesome reminder of her fate.

                “You must miss her.”

                Cassandra turned to look at him, puzzled.

                “The Divine,” he clarified.

                “That’s not why I’m here.”

                “Oh. I just thought…”

                “When you didn’t follow, we thought that you had died. That moment. I haunts my dreams. I was sure that I had failed as your protector. Corypheus would triumph and all of Thedas would be lost. Then you returned to us. Just as you did in Haven. A miracle granted by the Maker.”

                It amazed him that her faith wasn’t shaken by the revelations in the Fade. He had his memories now. It had all been an absurd accident. He’d stumbled upon a scene with no understanding of what it meant, picked up a strange orb, and here they were. It was a shame he hadn’t had the chance to ask Divine Justinia how she felt about everyone having mistaken her for Andraste herself. Then again, that hadn’t really been Divine Justinia. Or had it? Puzzling out such questions was another area in which his expertise failed him.

                “I’m not sure how much the Maker had to do with it.”

                “I trust Dorian is regaining strength?”

                “He’ll be on his feet in not time.”

                He watched as one of the candles sputtered out, sending a trail of smoke into the air, the flame disappearing for no discernible reason. Gone, in the blink of an eye. Next to him Cassandra clasped her hands together.

                “I was in love with a man once. A mage. We adventured together when I was younger. He died at the Conclave.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                Daylen thought back to when he’d first met her. Absorbed as he’d been with waking up to accusations of having killed the Divine and finding a glowing mark on his hand, he’d never consider what it must have been like for Cassandra. She’d been thrust into leadership by circumstance during the same event as him. She’d lost a mentor and the man she’d loved in one swoop. At the time, he’d been afraid of finding himself wrongly, or worse rightly, executed for assassinating the Divine. His understanding of events had been too limited to fully appreciate how terrifying the situation after the Conclave must have been to someone who understood the implications of the events that had transpired.

                “I have spent many hours thinking about the events of the Conclave. About what I could have done differently. I have gone over every decision I made leading up to that day. I’ve changed the outcome a hundred times in my dreams. But I think at last I am at peace. What happened, cannot be changed. We must look to the future.”

                “And what do you see in the future?”

                “A new Divine will have to be chosen.”

                He’d forgotten all about that. No doubt someone would ask his opinion on the matter. These days it seemed like no one could get by without his uninformed input. “I suppose.”

                Cassandra turned to look at him. “My name has been mentioned. As has Leliana’s.”

                Of course, what better successor than one of the two hands of the former Divine? He couldn't really imagine either of them in the role, or the hat.

                “That would make you happy?”

                “My happiness is not the point, Inquisitor. The Chantry needs reforms, gradual ones that’d be accepted by the people. I can bring those about.”

                “And what about rebuilding the Seekers?”

                “Yes. I have been thinking of that too.”

                Daylen tried to imagine Cassandra, garbed in those outlandish robes, sitting through countless meetings and negotiations, attending ceremonial events, and making poetic speeches about the Maker. It was ridiculous. She'd lose her mind within a week. Then again, if the past few month had taught him anything, it was that people were full of surprises.

                “Don’t discount your happiness, Cassandra. You deserve your share of joy, as much as anyone else.”

                “That… Thank you, Inquisitor. Would you like me to leave you to your prayers?”

                Daylen shook his head and stood up. “No. Stay. I interrupted. Besides there's a stack of reports with my name on them in the War Room.”

                It was dark by the time he made his way back to his quarters. He pushed the door open slowly, careful not to let the door hinges squeak. The candles in the room were all out so he felt his way across the room with only his memory and the bit of light from the windows to guide him. He fumbled into his sleeping clothes and eased his way under the covers trying not to wake Dorian. His efforts were in vain.

                “You’re back.”

                Daylen slid closer and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s shoulder. “I always come back. Or haven’t you heard the tales?”

                “I may have heard a rumor.” Dorian rolled over to face him. “So?”

                “I should’ve let you stay.”

                Dorian reached out to trail a thumb over his face as if he could detect the truth of his words by the outlines of his expression. "Do you mean that? Or are you just saying it so I’ll let you use me as a pillow again?”

                “Can’t it be both?”

                “I shouldn’t have yelled, Amatus.”

                “You wouldn’t be the Dorian I fell in love with if you hadn’t.”

                “Hmm.”

                “So, what now?”

                Dorian slid a warm hand under his shirt. “There aren’t any arrows.”

                “What?” Daylen laughed.

                In one smooth motion Dorian nudged him to his back and slid on top of him. He captured Daylen’s hands and gently trapped them above his head. “We’ll have to take Sera’s other suggestion.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last an update! Life is getting in the way of more regular updates at the moment, but I promise this fic isn't getting abandoned. Thanks for your patience, kudos and lovely comments everyone.


	38. In Which Dorian Finds a Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At very long last an update. Thank you for being patient with me dearies!

 

            Solas had finally declared him fit to return to a normal routine. Dorian had almost hugged him on hearing the news. If he had to spend one more minute cooped up in bed he'd go insane. He wandered around the room in search of his things. A surprising amount of his possessions had migrated upstairs while he'd been recovering in Daylen's room. His books covered both of the night tables and a small stack took up a part of the sofa. His toiletries took up more than half the shelf in the bathroom and a couple of his robes were flung over a chair. He glanced at the floor and with mild embarrassment picked up a stray sock. It discomforted him to discover that despite the pride he took in appearances and well furnished rooms, a lifetime of living in luxury had turned him into something of a slob. The tiny room he’d been assigned was clean, but only as a matter of true necessity. Give the space to make a mess, he’d succeeded admirably.

            "Don't go."

            He rolled his eyes, although seeing as his head was now under the bed the gesture was no doubt lost on Daylen. "Amatus, I didn't get this striking physique lounging around in beds all day. I need to get back to doing things. Maybe I can convince Vivienne to duel with me later for a bit of exercise.” His fingertips grazed against the other sock. “And don’t you dare tell her I said that or she’ll never stop gloating about it.”

            "No. I mean, move up here with me."

            Dorian made to stand up and bashed his head against the bedframe with a loud crack. His eyes watered with pain. “Kaffas!”

            He crawled out from under the bed still rubbing his head. This man truly had no sense. Asking him a question like that while he groped for dirty socks under the bed. “Festis bei umo canavarum!”

            “Is that a yes?” Daylen asked with a mixture of concern and amusement.

            “It means, you’ll be the death of me.”

            “Oh?”

            Dorian dusted off his robes to give himself a moment to think. Once he would have mocked the suggestion. He’d have called it settling into a life of mutual domesticity. He would have never given such a thing serious consideration. Now, he found that the idea didn't seem all that absurd. He spent a lot of time in Daylen's quarters even when he wasn't recovering from head wounds and it seemed that almost half his things had made their way up here without him even noticing. Certainly it was no longer a secret anywhere that the Inquisitor had taken a mage from Tevinter as a lover. For any who might share his father’s opinion on their relationship, the Inquisitor’s name was long ago ruined.

            “Are you sure?” He looked up to meet Daylen’s eyes. "Careful of what you offer… Before you know it this place will be full of silks and pillows.”

            “And socks apparently.”

            "You can never have enough socks,” Dorian said defensively.

            Daylen laughed. "Move up here and bring your socks. That is, if you can stand my desk. Change whatever else you like, but that thing you call an unsightly mess is a method."

            Dorian sighed dramatically. "You ask so much of me. Very well, I suppose I can stand the cold and stairs in exchange for a bath and a bigger bed." Even after all this time he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted, to somehow explain that the world as he knew it was shifting beneath his feet and for once he didn't mind one bit. 

            To his astonishment Daylen pounced at him with a whoop and before he could protest lifted him into the air. He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity as Daylen spun around in a circle then tossed him onto the bed, sending pillows flying. He didn’t even mind that he’d have to comb his hair all over again.

            "And what exactly was that?"

            "A barbaric southern courting ritual of course. Next, I send three goats and a sheaf of wheat to your mother," Daylen deadpanned.

            He tried to imagine his mother's expression on delivery of such a dowry. Some part of him thought she'd actually be quite amused and have some witty remark on hand for the occasion. He'd inherited her sense of humor and excessive fondness for expensive wines. 

            "Only three? I'm insulted."

            "It's the proper gesture. You suggest I rebel against customs and go with something heretical? Maybe send dracolisks?"

            He wouldn't put it past Daylen to actually do such a thing. "I suggest that you go to your meeting before Leliana comes up here and drags you to it by the ear. I'll start on moving my things. Climbing those stairs will be good exercise."

            Daylen grinned and lightly tossed the pillows that had flown off the bed at him. "Don't overdo it. I don't want you tiring yourself out hauling around stacks of books."

            "You imagine dracolisks. I on the other hand, imagine all kinds of rewards for my labors."

            "In that case, I’d best get to that meeting." Of course, he literally ran down the staircase and out of the room. Dorian shook his head and stood up to fix the pillows. If only the masses knew that their mighty Inquisitor spent his days dashing around Skyhold like an overeager schoolboy. They'd be scandalized. He went downstairs pleased to discover that it wasn’t nearly as difficult a task as he’d expected. It seemed Solas had been right in saying he’d be back to normal if he just waited for his body to catch up to the work of ancient healing spells.

            He opened the door to his room and looked around. There wasn’t all that much here that he needed. The generous pile of books that had accumulated for sure, his clothes, and a handful of knickknacks. It would take perhaps four trips to bring his things upstairs. At least two of those for the books alone. If someone had told him a few years ago that one day all of his possessions wouldn’t fill a broom closet he would have laughed. He picked up a stack of books that wobbled precariously in his arms.

            He turned to find Solas observing him in the open doorway. “I see that you have made a full recovery.”

            “I can’t thank you enough,” Dorian said. He struggled and failed to keep one of the books from sliding off the top of the pile and to the ground.

            Solas stepped in to pick it up. “You could start by letting me read this. You’ve been keeping it from me for weeks.”

            “Take it.”

            “And what exactly is it that you’re doing?”

            “Moving my things.” He knew Solas would understand what that meant. Living at the bottom of the rotunda he no doubt knew more than most about the goings on of Skyhold. It never ceased to amaze him how far a whisper could carry in that place.

            Solas gathered up a stack of books. “In that case, lead on.”

            “You don’t have to do that.”

            “Of course I don’t,” Solas said with a hint of amusement. “We are not in Tevinter. Thus, I am free to choose to help you.”

            Dorian led the way out of the room. “You’re never going to let the Tevinter thing go, are you?”

            “Not for another couple centuries.”

            With help from Solas it was quick work to move his things to Daylen’s quarters. As a show of gratitude he handed off several other volumes he’d been hoarding. When Solas left with them he looked around the room one last time. To his surprise he found himself a bit melancholy. As much as he’d bemoaned having to inhabit this tiny space it was the first place he’d felt at home since…well since he’d left home. And if he was honest with himself even that hadn’t felt much like home for a long time before he’d left. He looked around, checking that no one could see him, then gave the doorframe a fond pat goodbye. He didn’t linger any longer before closing the door.

            Upstairs, he made his way toward the bookshelf behind Daylen’s desk. He’d need to organize things to make room for his own books. As usual, the desk was covered with stacks of reports, envelopes, and an astounding amount of knickknacks. There was a caprice coin Daylen had brought back from the Winter Palace, a glass halla purchased from a merchant without explanation, a moonstone they’d found abandoned in some cave, and a tiny Mabari carved from wood that he guessed was a gift from Blackwall. Who knew what else was hidden under the stacks of papers? Whatever claims Daylen made about a method, Dorian was convinced this was simply put, clutter and chaos.

            A bit of bright coloring caught his eyes at the center of the desk. Curiosity getting the best of him, he pulled the paper out from under a couple reports to get a better look. It was a woman’s portrait. She had striking green eyes and a shock of loosely pulled up black curls. Brightly colored feathers had been stuck into her hair. On occasion Daylen received sketches of some noble or other from Leliana or Jospehine. They were mostly meant to give Daylen an advantage in learning names before his many meetings with noble families. It was unusual for them to be quite so detailed or colored. This portrait looked like the work of a professional.

            The woman was clad in a red dress that was more corset than anything else and so short that her legs were visible from mid-thigh all the way to her bare feet. She was draped over a divan. Dorian raised his eyebrows. This was positively scandalous. What was Daylen doing with such a thing? He'd seen such portraits before of course. When he'd been a student at the Circles, many of the other boys had owned prized collections of such sketches. Dorian had been forced to make do with the occasional swordplay manual. There was a section on stretches that he still recalled with fondness.

            Perhaps some desperate woman had mailed it to the Inquisitor? But Josephine sorted all of Daylen’s mail before passing it on. Somehow he doubted she would have found this important enough to be placed with a report on red templar movements. His eyes stopped on the neckline. There was a bird pendant around her neck. He knew that pendant. In fact, he’d been the one to pick it out when he’d gone with Daylen to Val Royeaux. The same trip on which they’d fought over his amulet.

            A cold dread slipped low into his gut. It couldn’t be. What had Daylen said when he’d picked it out? _She stole my heart at first sight._ With a trembling hand he turned over the sketch. He squinted at the tiny scrawl on the back of it.

_I hope you’re as horrified as mother was when she saw this. Serves you right for taking so long to write back to me. I’ll thank you for the pendant. Though that raven wasn’t keen to relinquish it. Next time send gifts by carrier pigeon. I swear that bird watched us as if it meant to report on our every move. Save the world faster or I’ll perish from listening to our dearest brother complain about the postponement of his wedding. He’s insufferable on the subject. Just last week he threatened to elope. Mother nearly had a fit and we’ve all been walking on eggshells ever since._

_Love,_

_Elaina_

            Dorian dropped the papers back on the desk and collapsed into the chair by it. He laughed at his own foolishness. To think that he’d thought even for a second that Daylen might be engaging in some secret affair with a woman. He shook his head and waited for his heart to slow its pounding, feeling the flush of embarrassment rising to his face. What was he doing anyway, riffling through Daylen’s papers like a paranoid housewife in some melodramatic performance?

            He put the papers back as he’d found them and turned back to setting his books on the shelves. Seeing neatly arranged book spines always helped calm him. In all this time Dorian had hardly given a thought to Daylen’s family.  He’d heard stories about them, he’d even survived meeting Daylen’s uncle. Although he preferred not to dwell on the awkwardness of that encounter. Still they seemed to him nothing more than distant figures out of a fairy tale where family could be something other than a bitter disappointment.

            What would happen after they defeated Corypheus? He didn’t quite know when he’d tentatively begun to imagine an after, but lately he thought of it more and more. While they battled Corypheus, they had a common goal. He had a reason to stay at Daylen’s side. When that battle was over, if they both lived, and he’d begun to think they might, there’d be nothing left for him to do.

            In foolish flights of fancy he’d imagined Daylen traveling with him to Tevinter.  Dorian would spend his days researching magic, maybe even take on an apprentice, and Daylen would... He had to admit that his fantasies had never drifted beyond coming home to find Daylen waiting for his return in the bed or perhaps on a rug woven in daring colors. Even if Daylen could find something to occupy his time in Tevinter, there was the matter of his family. Daylen had a life here. This was his homeland. He’d want to attend his brother’s wedding, to watch his nieces and nephews grow up. Maybe even take care of the family estate. A pang of pain went straight to his chest. Someday, maybe even someday soon, he’d have to make a choice. A choice between the improbable man he’d entrusted with his heart and the homeland that called for him to return with an unrelenting keen that he could not ignore.


	39. In Which Daylen Fears Another Blight

        Daylen walked into the war room with a grin that refused to leave his face. Dorian had agreed to move in with him. The same Dorian who’d once run out of his rooms at the prospect of anyone learning they'd been alone together. Nothing could possibly ruin his mood today. Nothing except the grim silence of his advisers. He felt his heart sink. Why couldn’t he just have one day when everything went right?

        “Has someone died?”

        Leliana stood up to pull out a chair for him. “No one has died. Or at least no one of importance. Sit, Inquisitor. It appears that I overlooked an important piece of information. My failure may bring us much trouble.”

         It was unlike Leliana to fail at anything. He took a seat and braced himself. “What is it now? Another Blight?”

         “Blackwall.”

         The grey warden had left for Val Royeaux a few days ago without telling anyone, leaving behind only a note. It had puzzled him, but with everything going on he hadn’t had the time to give it much thought. They'd been preparing for a trip to the Temple of Mythal and Morrigan would be joining them. He trusted Blackwall to take care of himself. If he had a personal matter to attend to he wouldn’t deny him a few days away from the Inquisition. Besides Alexius, the Inquisition had no prisoners.

         “There was trouble in Val Royeaux?” Daylen prompted.

         “He’s been arrested,” Cullen cut in.

          Of all of the members of the Inquisition he wouldn’t have put Blackwall high on the list of people who might ruffle the feathers of local authorities. Aside from his occasional snicker at Sera’s bawdy jokes, Blackwall was the picture of propriety.

         “Don’t tell me. He punched a guard for making a lewd comment to a lady?”

         “If only we might be so lucky!” Josephine’s voice trembled.

         “Inquisitor, the man we know as Blackwall, is actually Thom Rainier. He is a traitor wanted by the crown. He slaughtered a royal family in service to Duke Gaspard.”

         It was well known that many grey wardens had less than savory backgrounds. Still, becoming a grey warden meant a clean slate. The practice didn’t sit easy with everyone, but serving as a grey warden was a profound sacrifice. Surely the guards at Val Royeaux knew that much.

         “You mean, he changed his name after becoming a warden?”

          Leliana shook her head. “I mean he is not a warden at all.”

          “Excuse me?”

          “I do not understand how this escaped my attention. He was under my very nose!”

          Cullen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He was under all of our noses.”

          Daylen thought back to when they’d met with Stroud, when he’d first found out about the calling luring away all of the grey wardens. He’d wondered then why Blackwall hadn’t been affected as the others had been. So many strange things happened around him at all times that he’d dismissed it. Extraordinary individuals surrounded him, it was only to be expected that the grey warden who’d joined the cause would have an unparalleled amount of self-control. Instead it seemed that Blackwall was a master of deception. To have managed to hide such a thing from even Leliana was no small feat. Although perhaps it had been his own insistence on granting the Inquisition’s members privacy that had contributed to this oversight.

          “This is…quite the development.”

          Cullen shook his head. “It will infuriate the grey wardens. It was on Blackwall’s urging that they joined our cause. They will see this as a deliberate deception on the part of the Inquisition.”

          Daylen sighed. That much was probably true. No one would believe that the Inquisition hadn’t known about Blackwall’s true identity. The Inquisition faced enough distrust without such a scandal.

          “If we leave him in Val Royeaux to face charges we might have a chance at convincing them.”

          “And what would our other allies think if we let one of our own be executed?” Leliana asked. “We have more than just the wardens to think about. Word will spread of this. Our sources for information do not all have pasts to be bragged of in polite company.”

          Josephine nibbled the tip of her quill. “We could petition to have him brought to Skyhold for judgement. Our influence is strong in Orlais. Although that would no doubt displease some of our noble allies. They would see it as an overreach of our power.”

          “I can have him extracted so that no one is the wiser for it,” Leliana suggested. “There’d be nothing but rumors about his identity.”

          “There are already rumors about-“

          Daylen raised his hand to stall the debate. “I’m going to need you to take me though all of this from the beginning. I’m not sure I even understand what Blackwall did.”

          To say that it was a long morning would have been the understatement of the Dragon Age. He left the meeting without coming to a decision. He couldn’t stall long on this, but neither could he make up his mind in haste. Maybe discussing it with Dorian would help. He made his way to his, no, _their_ bedroom.

          The bookshelf was bursting with new volumes and Dorian’s robes were spread out on the bed in a neat pile. If someone had told him a few months ago that seeing a pile of robes could make him giddy with joy he would have suggested they visit a healer. Dorian wasn’t in the room, but on the balcony, staring into the mountains. Which was the last place he'd have expected to find him.

          Daylen stepped out to join him. He never grew tired of the cool mountain air. He supposed now that he shared to space permanently with Dorian he’d have to sacrifice leaving the balcony doors wide open.

          “So, how does it feel to have the room with the best view?”

          “You tell me.” Dorian turned and waved a presenting hand over himself with a teasing smile.

          He leaned against the railing next to him, knocking their shoulders together. “Idiot.”

          “I have been meaning to ask you something, Amatus.”

          He looked over at Dorian. It was unlike him to seem so serious about much of anything. “Is something wrong?”

          “I’m simply curious. What are your plans, for when all of this is over?”

          Daylen raised an eyebrow. The last time they’d had a discussion about the future it hadn't gone well. “I’m shocked and scandalized. Just last week I heard you betting Varric we wouldn’t live to see the end of the month.”

          “It’s called hedging your bets. I’m sure it’ll be at least another century before you hear of it in the south.”

          He considered the question. It was impossible to predict what things would be like should they succeed. Up until recently his plans had been to take his vows as a templar and then await further orders. At most he’d hoped to be posted at a Circle close enough that he might be able to visit his family once in a while. Now that his future wasn't in the hands of someone else he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with it.

          “There will still be work to be done I suppose. People to help and places to rebuild.”

          “Hmm. And your family?”

          Dorian had never expressed interest in hearing about his family, not that Daylen could blame him. “I want to visit them as soon as I can do so without bringing a swarm of red templars on them. My younger brother has been postponing his wedding until I can attend."

          "I see."

          "Is this about your father? Has he written another letter?”

          “No. Nothing like that. Just making conversation.”

          Daylen didn't believe that for a second. But whatever it was, Dorian would discuss it with him when he felt ready.  “I need your advice on something.”

          “Your victory party outfit? I suggest leaving a bit of battle grime across your face. It'll make a great conversation piece."

          "Blackwall. Or rather, not Blackwall.” He repeated the whole tale to Dorian, who listened intently. If the news shocked him, he hid it well.

          "What do you intend to do?”

          "You're not at all surprised?"

          Dorian laughed. "It's always the silent brooding types. You're telling me you don't think there's more to Solas than he let's on? Or Cassandra? We all have our secrets, Amatus."

           He looked down to where he knew the courtyard was although the thick white mist that seemed to roll in from the mountains regardless of the weather obscured it. At times he wondered if some ancient spell intended to create privacy kept a permanent curtain from prying eyes around this tower.

           "I must admit it surprises me that Leliana didn't discover it. I thought it was hardly possible to sneeze in Thedas without her hearing of it," Dorian said.

           "She shares your feelings, I think."

           Dorian traced some pattern in the railing with his finger as if he were drawing a rune. "What do her files say about me?"

           He remembered then that he'd implied he'd read them when they'd argued about Dorian sneaking up to his rooms rather than coming up with him. That felt like so long ago now. "I wouldn't know. I've never read them."

           "But you said-"

           "I was being an ass."

           Dorian searched his face. "Then- You know nothing about my life in Tevinter?"

           "Only what you've told me." Which really wasn't much. 

           "Ah and here I was worried that moving in together would remove all the mystique."

           Daylen recognized the all too jovial tone of the joke as nervousness. He put a hand over Dorian's to still his far too casual scribbling and gently nudged the rings on his hand into place. "You don't have to talk about it."

           "There's not much to talk about," Dorian said quietly. "I moved from tavern to bed to brothel and back again. Used up any goodwill I could squeeze out of the Pavus name. And now, here I am."

           "We both know there's more to it than that," Daylen said.

           "What happened with my father is no excuse. I took advantage of people who'd done me no wrong."

           "You're here. Fighting the Venatori and Corypheus. You've more than made amends."

           "Made amends?" Dorian laughed bitterly. "Some of the places I went had elven workers. _Workers_. What a quaint way to describe slavery. I never gave a second thought to it. Do you imagine any of them were there of their own free will?" He pulled away his hand and rubbed at his face. "There is no making amends for that."

            Daylen wished that he could wrap his arms around Dorian and somehow make everything better. Except it didn't work that way. Adept as his hand was at sealing rifts in the sky, this wasn't something he could mend. But perhaps he could give someone else the chance to live and to try and make amends.

            "We'll bring Blackwall back."


	40. In Which Dorian Decides

          Dorian stared at the page in front of him and tried for the third time to read it. When he reached the second paragraph on the page for the fourth time, he slammed the book shut and gave the whole thing up as a bad job. He'd tried reading on the balcony, on the sofa, in bed, and now in the library. The location wasn't the problem. He couldn't care less about ancient necromancy while Daylen might be dead at the bottom of some pit in a crumbling elven temple. He'd been gone for days now, with no word of his well-being. Not for the first time, he thought longingly of the pair of sending crystals his parents owned. When he'd been younger they'd worn them at all times, although there'd hardly been a reason for them to be apart more than a handful of days at a time. He couldn't remember when they'd been relegated to a barely opened drawer in a hallway armoire, but he wished now that he'd had the foresight to take them when he'd left. Although if he had taken them, he'd have surely sold them long before joining the Inquisition. Perhaps he'd ask Leliana to help him track down a pair. It would be worth suffering through that knowing smile of hers to be able to speak to Daylen the next time they were apart.

          He'd wanted to join Daylen on the trip to the temple, but he'd known that it'd be best if he stayed behind. Daylen would need a small team to maneuver in crumbling ruins. Morrigan and Solas were obvious choices for the trip and that left the mage spots pretty much filled. So he'd stayed at Skyhold and tried his best to keep his mind occupied with anything other than images of all the horrible deaths that Daylen might suffer. 

          Setting the book aside, he made his way outside, scowling at the bright sun mocking his gloomy mood. The courtyard was filled with people enjoying what he supposed qualified as pleasant weather in the south. Even Blackwall had come out from the barn he'd secluded himself in ever since Daylen had brought him back to Skyhold. From Blackwall's reaction after his hearing anyone might have thought that Daylen had condemned him to a life long imprisonment rather than a full pardon. 

         He leaned against the barn door to watch him at work on yet another carving. "Do my eyes decieve me or has more than the sun emerged from behind the clouds?"

         "Are you speaking to me?"

          Dorian sighed. He wasn't sure why he'd thought that this conversion could be anything less than completely awkward. After all, a man could only change so much in the span of a couple of days. "Imagine my own shock, Blackwall. Or is it Rainier now?"

          "Blackwall will do."

          "I've been thinking."

          Blackwall didn't look up. "Oh, this should be good."

          Dorian sighed. "Has anyone ever told you, you're a bit of an ungrateful git?"

         "Here it comes," Blackwall sighed and set down his carving, although not his knife.

         Dorian raised an eyebrow and dismissed what could be interpreted as either a thinly veiled threat or a defense with a wave. "Oh please don't bother with all that on my account. You're not the thug I thought you were. You're not the thug _anyone_ thought you were."

         "Is this a set up to a punchline?"

         "What I'm saying is, you should come out of that barn more." He hoped that for once Blackwall would not need him to spell out exactly what he meant. He was bad enough at heartfelt talks when they didn't take place in glaring sunlight and with a potential audience nearby.

         "I'm not sure how to respond." As ever, Blackwall made no attempt to hide his confusion.

         Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose to gather his composure. "Of course not. Let's not go crazy with defying expectations." He took a deep breath and pushed ahead. "What I'm trying to say is, you're not a bad man."

        "Perhaps Tevinter has different standards by which to judge a man."

        He could easily take the bait and let Blackwall goad him into yet another argument on this subject. A few months ago he would have, but now he let the insult roll off him. "You wanted to atone for your actions. I understand that."

        "Is that so?"

        He took a seat on one of the blocks of wood that awaited chopping so that they'd be more or less at eye-level. "When we met I...said some things about grey wardens and murder. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

        Blackwall shook his head. "You don't have to apologize to me Dorian."

        He laughed at that. "Almost everyone who's ever said that to me has been wrong."

        "No. You were right. I am a murder. And I escaped my past to become a warden, like many others before me."

        "Obviously, Blackwall...the other Blackwall, saw something in you. I respect that."

        Dorian knew he wouldn't be able soothe Blackwall's conscience with his words, no more than anyone could soothe his own. That part they'd have to figure out on their own. Maybe neither one of the would ever really find peace with some of what they'd done. Still, he couldn't help but admire Blackwall. Even if he had never completed the necessary rituals, he'd been willing to give up his entire life to serve as a grey wardens. It was no small sacrifice.

        Blackwall cleared his throat and looked down at his boots. "You gave up your life of privilege on principle."

        He wished he could agree with that, but deep down he knew he couldn't claim anything quite so noble. In the end, he'd left Tevinter because he'd burned every other bridge behind him. There hadn't been much in the way of privilege left for him to go back to, even if he'd wanted to. "I didn't like that life."

        "It was wrong of me to lump you in with peers you hardly resemble."

         It surprised him how much it relieved him to hear someone other than Daylen acknowledge it. "Truce?"

         "Gladly. Let me buy you a drink." 

         "You read my mind." Drinking in silence was about the only thing the two of them had ever been able to do comfortably. That was to say he'd done the drinking and Blackwall had taken care of maintaining the silence.

          It was a novel experience to walk toward the tavern and feel fairly confident that most of the dirty looks throw their way weren't directed at him. Blackwall hadn't reacted well at his pardon, but it was little compared to the reaction of the rest of the Inquisition. He didn't think Cassandra had even bothered with yelling at him. Instead she'd maintained a stony silence.

         They stepped into the mostly empty tavern. Cole who rarely ventured from his hiding spot near the rafters was sitting at one of the tables by the stairs. He'd tipped his hat far back, his pale face for once unobscured by the shadow of its brim. He smiled shyly as Maryden pulled a card from out of his sleeve. She tapped his nose with it and laughed.

         "Dorian," Cole said, greeting him with a beaming smile. "Maryden has been showing me card tricks."

         "So I see," Dorian said unable to restrain his amusement. Truly there was something in the waters of Skyhold. Either that, or the looming threat of the end of the universe really did have the power to change people. He took a seat next to Cole while Blackwall went to order their drinks

         "I'm not very good," Maryden confessed. "Never put in the hours to make even a coin out of it. But on occasion, it does the trick."

         "You say tricks but you- oh." Cole blushed and fell silent.

         Maryden laughed again. "There, I've teased you enough for one day. This is my lucky day it seems. Dorian Pavus, I've wanted to meet you for some time now."

         "And who could blame you? I've a rare and marvelous personality."

         Blackwall returned with a tray of drinks for all of them.

         "A mage from the Tevinter Imperium." Maryden said helping herself to a glass of wine.

         Dorian forced himself to keep a pleasant expression. "The very best."

         Behind the mask, despair clawed at him. Would it always be this way? No matter what he did or said every time he met someone new, would he always become nothing more than a Tevinter? As if his entire existance could be quantified by the place of his birth.

         "Shit start to a song if you ask me," Blackwall said, setting an ale in front of Dorian.

         "And what makes you think that I'm writing a song?"

         "You're a bard, aren't you?"

         "I prefer the title of minstrel. Calling yourself a bard can lead to disappointed employers. Especially in Orlais."

         "Point is," Blackwall said. "You're after a song."

         "True enough. What is it you'd open with?"

         Dorian cringed. Long after everyone forgot all of the details of what had happened during the Inquisition, people would still be singing the songs written now. And the song that might end up as the only record of his part in all this was about the written by the least articulate man he'd ever met. His name would end up replaced with a grunt, or perhaps a manly spitting sound.

         "Dorian rebelled against his countrymen," Blackwall proposed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "That's the interesting part."

         He couldn't help the part of him that still enjoyed being thought a rebel. It was a title he'd spent a long time earning in his youth, although admittedly not always for the right reasons or in the right ways.

         "Careful now, first you're complimenting my looks and now you're offering drinks. People will talk," Dorian joked.

         "Never said a thing about your looks," Blackwall protested.

          "Weren't you just saying I don't resemble my peers? I assumed you were referring to my stunning features as well as my obvious suave and charm."

          "You're a looker," Blackwall grunted. "When Corypheus is the competition."

          Dorian chocked on his ale at the unexpected jab. "So you have heard of humor."

          "Wasn't joking." Blackwall said with a rare grin.

          Before Dorian could think of retort of his own he heard the unmistakable sound of Skyhold's gates being opened. He bolted to his feet with an apologetic look.

          "Oh go on then," Maryden said. "I have plenty here to work with."

          He rushed out into the courtyard refusing to think about the implications of that for his legacy. The Inquisition's scouts poured in through the gates. He watched them impatiently, annoyed with Daylen for not being at the front of the group as usual. Surely he knew that Dorian would be waiting to make sure he'd returned in one piece. One of the scouts was leading a horse. Daylen's horse. The noise in the courtyard faded as if someone had placed a muffling spell over the whole of it. He pushed past anyone in his way, ignoring the indignant looks it earned him.

          "Where is he?"

          The scout turned to look at him, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Oh you're- The Inquisitor-He-That is to say I-"

          Dorian grabbed the front of his jacket as if he could tear the knowledge out of the man with his bare hands. "Where is he?"

          "I don't know."

          "What do you-" Any further words were cut off by a yelp of pain as a spark of electricity raced through his hands forcing them to release the scout in front of him. He turned around to find its source, eyes falling on Solas.

         "Unhand that poor boy," Solas said. "We took an alternate route. The Inquisitor is meeting with his advisers as we speak."

         The relief that flooded him made him feel weak all over again. _So typical of you Dorian. At last you fall for a man who returns your feelings and of course he's doomed you to a lifetime of worrying that he'll fall into the abyss and break your heart._

          "What alternate route?" Dorian asked when he could trust his voice again.

          "Perhaps I'd be best if we didn't speak of it out in the courtyard."  
  
                                                                                                           

    ***

          The sun had long set by the time he heard Daylen's heavy footsteps on the stairs. Dorian untangled himself from the blanket that he'd wrapped around himself against the chill from the open windows. He knew that Daylen preferred sleeping in a cold room, if there'd ever be a time he'd need a good night's rest it would be tonight. He touched a hand to the cover he'd placed over the food he'd had brought up from the kitchens to make sure that the the heating spell he'd placed on it was still holding.

          Daylen emerged at the top of the staircase and gave him an apologetic look. "You didn't have to stay up."

          "I couldn't sleep."

          After Blackwall's return and speaking with Solas about the elven temple, he could no longer deny the quiet whisper in the back of his mind that had always told him that one day he'd have to leave the south. For all his talk of everything that was wrong with his homeland, he'd done nothing to change any of it. But he could. If Daylen could close rifts in the sky and convince thousands to give their support to the Inquisition, surely he could manage to convince people to abandon a couple traditions. He knew there were others back home who'd support him. Some of them he could even call friends. Tevinter needed him and he needed Tevinter. He wasn't sure what that would mean for him and Daylen. He only knew that he could not give up that part of himself. If that meant losing Daylen... his heart ached at the thought of it.

           "Dorian?" Daylen looked up from the food he'd already started devouring. "Are you alright?"

           "I have to go back." He hadn't meant to bring it up right now. There was no point in discussing it when the war wasn't even over. Yet it had slipped out of him and now he couldn't take it back. Perhaps it was better this way. It would be best to gauge Daylen's reaction now. So that he could prepare himself for the worst, should it come.

           "Go back where?"

           "To Tevinter."

           "Now?" Daylen asked, wide eyed.

           "Of course not." He took a seat next to Daylen on the sofa. "When the war is over. If we both live."

           "For a visit you mean?" Daylen set down his fork in a careful way that told him he already knew the answer to his question.

           "It's all your fault, Amatus." He gave him a small smile. "You inspired me with your marvelous antics."

           "You mean to reform Tevinter?'

           "If you can change minds, then so can I." It came out more forceful than he'd expected. As if he were filled with an iron clad certainty rather than a gnawing pit of doubt that he could so much as prompt the Magisterium to abandon the awful archaic robes it required its members to wear. As if Daylen might laugh and tell him that he could never accomplish such a thing.

           "I could come with you."

            The idea came to him so easily. As if it were the simplest and easiest thing in the world. As if Tevinter were a village just a few miles over with a handful of unusual customs rather than a whole world apart. As if he weren't the leader of an organisation with unprecedented powers.

           "I can't ask that of you. You have all this," he waved his hand around the room. "You have your family."

           "You didn't ask. I offered."

           "Tempting."

           And it was. He could return to Tevinter, to the glorious weather, the food, and the few friends he hadn't lost. Daylen could be at his side and he'd make everything easier and wonderful until he fell into complacency and lost all will to do the grueling and dangerous work of changing Tevinter for the better. The temptation would be too strong.

           "Then?" Daylen prompted.

           "We both know you would end up doing it all yourself," he said with a shake of his head. "As much as watching my homeland beaten into submission would amuse me, this is something _I_ need to do."

           "And what about us?"

           He hadn't prepared himself for the hurt in Daylen's eyes. Nor did he know how to respond. A year or two apart, perhaps a relationship could survive that. But reforming Tevinter? That would be the work of a lifetime, probably longer. What could he ask of Daylen? That he be content with exchanging letters and the occasional hurried reunion when they could both find a couple days to get away? No sane person would agree to that.

           "Amatus-"

           He never had a chance to figure out the rest of the sentence as Daylen cut if off with a kiss. "We'll figure it out."

           Dorian wasn't sure if the forcefulness with which Daylen said it made it a promise or nothing more than a desperate hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! I've finally updated the final chapter count and we are indeed nearing the end of the journey. Although for anyone who might be interested there's a sequel planned, picking up a bit before the events of Trespasser and possibly something following Dorian before the events of this fic, although no promises on that as of yet.


	41. In Which, Incredibly, They Live

     Daylen could feel the searing pain in his hand as he ran from the crumbling ruins. A fine ending it would be if after all this he was crushed to death by a rock. He refused to give Varric the satisfaction of an absurd ending to what had otherwise been stellar material for a tale of epic heroism. He pulled on strength from somewhere deep within himself and forced his legs to move faster despite muscles that protested every new movement. He pushed past the chocking cloud of dust and collapsed against a boulder. He didn't have enough air left in his lungs to cough. Everything had fallen silent. He looked up into the sky.

     The rift was gone. Corypheus was gone.

     "Inquisitor? Are you alive?" Cassandra yelled from somewhere below. 

     He was. Despite all odds, he was alive. 

     Dorian ran up the staircase. He stopped, bracing himself with a hand on Cassandra's shoulder.

     "You're alive." He looked down at himself. "And I'm alive! Incredible, isn't it?"

     Daylen smiled. He didn't have the strength to do anything more. 

     "What now?" Cassandra prompted, ever looking ahead to the next mission. 

     The question echoed in the silence. Now? Now, I take a bath. Now, we all put on clean socks. But neither of those seemed appropriate responses for the moment at hand. He thought there should be triumphant music or maybe singing, but only the exhausted stillness of a long battle come to an abrupt end cheered their victory. 

     "We go back to Skyhold." He trusted that Varric would imbue his words with profound meaning fitting for the occasion when he wrote his next book. Maybe he'd give him a speech. 

     He didn't remember the return journey. Only the dull throb in his arm and the occasional jolt of the wagon he'd fallen asleep in. Flashes of green light haunted his sleep along with sound of air whipped by a dragon taking flight. Solas walked around the battlefield with the cracked elven orb cradled in his arms, but when Daylen tried to find some words to comfort him, he found he wasn't facing Solas at all, but a wolf.

 

***

  
     Dorian watched the gentle rise and fall of Daylen's chest. He was alive. When they'd gotten separated during the chaos of the battle he'd been certain they'd never see each other again. He wasn't lucky enough to fall for the hero that survived the war. Yet here he was, the Inquisitor and savior, asleep with Dorian's lap for a pillow and a somewhat clean cloak for a blanket. Living proof that his luck had changed. The green of the Fade flickered softly in the center of Daylen's palm. He wasn't sure why, but he'd expected that once Corypheus was gone, the Anchor would be as well. Healed like the rift in the sky. But it was still there. A permanent part of Daylen.

     The wagon came to a jolting halt.

     "What is it now?" Daylen asked, his voice thick with sleep.

     "Rise and shine, Amatus. It's time for your big speech. You have prepared a speech, haven't you?"

     Daylen sat up with a moan. "Can't I just wave that stupid ornamental sword they gave me?

     "Only if you comb your hair. Otherwise your portrait will look ridiculous." He stood up and stretched, reaching for his toes, enjoying the feeble protest of his sore muscles. A hot bath would be glorious. He still had some of the expensive soap from Tevinter hidden away. Oh alright. So maybe he had dared hope that they'd have the occasion to use it.

     Something or rather someone, pinched him.

     "Now, _this_ would make an excellent portrait."

     "Barbarian." Dorian laughed. He turned around the face Daylen and shook his head at the state of his hair. It wouldn't do to have the Inquisitor emerge at Skyhold with something resembling a damaged nest on his head. He combed his fingers through Daylen's hair letting small tendrils of magic unspool as he worked. He took a step back to assess his work. "Better."

     "I knew it!" Daylen grinned. "It _is_ magic. Ha! Varric owes me three silvers."

     "I wish you luck proving it." Dorian tried to feign offense and failed. He simply couldn't keep a smile off his face long enough. They were alive. They were together. What else could possibly matter?

     "Inquisitor! We're almost at the gates."

     They both got out of the wagon and mounted the horses that had been prepared for them. Even in the face of an impossible battle Cullen had made sure to prepare for the possibility of their triumphant return. He fell back, behind Daylen as they went through the gates. The deafening roar of the crowd greeted them as they made their way toward the center of the courtyard. Daylen dismounted right in the center of the commotion. For a moment Dorian was certain that the crowd would swallow Daylen and crush him in a frenzy of celebration, but instead they fell silent and parted, leaving a path toward the staircase, on which his advisers already awaited. Dorian pushed his way through the crowd to the front and watched him ascend. The crowd seemed to hold it's breath as Daylen greeted each of his advisers and turned toward them.

     Daylen smiled.

     He didn't have a speech, he didn't even have the ceremonial sword to raise, but the crowd cheered and clapped anyway. Dorian's chest swelled with pride. Pride in the incredible man who'd saved them all from destruction. Pride in every single person who'd helped them along the way. And incredibly, pride in himself. For joining the Inquisition, despite the grim view he'd held of its chances of success. Pride in finding the courage to entrust his heart to another. Proud to discover that he could make himself proud.

 

***

  
     The Anchor throbbed as if he were near a rift. Which didn't make sense because there weren't rifts anymore. He rubbed the center of his palm and pressed his thumb into the center of it hoping the pressure might help. It didn't. For at least the hundredth time he wished that he'd thought to ask Solas about how he'd stabilized his hand back in Haven. But wishing it wouldn't do him any good now. Solas was nowhere to be found. At first, he'd thought that Solas had gone off by himself to mourn the loss of the elven orb.When he didn't reappear within the next couple of days he'd grown concerned and asked Leliana to put together a search party. So far, even with Leliana's resources freed up from tracking Corypheus they'd been unsuccessful at finding the slightest trace of him. Daylen didn't share Leliana's optimism that they'd find him soon. If Solas didn't want to be found, he'd disappear without a trace, just as he'd appeared. He could only hope that he might care to be found sooner rather than later.

     In the mean time he needed another solution to this problem. The healers wouldn't be able to help him, he was sure of that much. Of course, he could ask one of the many mages who now resided at Skyhold, but if he did that it wouldn't be long before everyone heard about it. And he didn't want anyone fussing over him. Not when there was finally a chance that things might get back to normal again. Which left him with one option. Daylen looked around the under-croft. It seemed a lot cozier than the last time he'd visited. Rune carved furniture filled the space and a couple of rugs served as makeshift curtains to cover the gaping hole in the wall. Dagna sat at her workbench with a magnifying glass in one hand and a set of tweezers in the other. A soft red glow illuminated her face.

     "Dagna?"

     "Good morning, Inquisitor." She set aside her tools and closed the box before turning to look at him.

     "What's that you were doing?" Daylen asked. He thought he had a pretty good idea of the answer, but didn't want to jump to conclusions. Dagna had proved an invaluable asset and for all her curiosity she was cautious. Surely she wouldn't do something as insane as bringing red lyrium into Skyhold. 

     "Dorian was kind enough to bring back some red lyrium for me. It's fascinating."

     He sighed. Of course Dorian would risk becoming poisoned to help defeat Corypheus. "You don't have to do that anymore. Corypheus is long gone."

     "It's not about Corypheus. It's research. But I'm being careful with it," Dagna said. "This is a special container. I've discovered some fascinating things. It could change the way we look at lyrium forever. Care to hear about it?"

     Daylen felt queasy just looking at the pile of papers she'd indicated. He'd heard enough reports to last him a lifetime and seen enough red lyrium for two. "Actually, I'm here on a personal matter."

     "Are you getting Dorian a present?"

     Should he be getting Dorian a present? Was it his birthday? With shock he realized that he'd never thought to find out the date. Those had seemed like inconsequential facts when they'd first met, but by now they'd known each other long enough that it seemed bizarre to not know such a basic thing. There were so many things they'd never found the time to ask each other. 

     "You've no clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

     He shook his head. 

     "Sera told me you were going to get his named tattooed on your...Nevermind..."

      "On my? What? No!" Although on second thought, I'd make an excellent prank.  _Maker, I've been around Sera too long._

     "Well, if it's not a numbing rune, then what can I help with?"

     "Before I ask I need you to promise that you won't tell anyone about this. Not even Dorian." He ignored the gnawing guilt at the pit of his stomach. If his hand got as bad as it had in Haven then he might not have long to celebrate his victory. Hiding a bit of pain was one thing, but an imminent death was another all together.

     Dagna scowled. "I don't like the sound of this."

     "I'll tell him myself if it becomes necessary," he reassured her, or maybe himself. "I just don't want to worry him for now."

     "Alright. But I've never know a secret to do anyone any good."

     "Noted." He sighed. "It's my hand. It hasn't felt right since I defeated Corypheus. I think whatever Solas did is wearing off."

     Dagna took his hand in her own. He felt like a giant in her grip. She traced her fingers over the Anchor and chewed her lip before letting his hand go. "I could try to study it. I'd _love_ to study. It's beautiful in a terrifying kind of way. I was right, wasn't I? It is a key. But..."

     "But?"

     She sighed. "Fade magic...it's different. I have the least experience with it. Given time I might learn more about it. I might even discover how it has bonded itself to you, But coming up with an enchantment to counteract it's effect? I've never done anything like that before. And I'd have no way to test it, other than on you. It might do more harm than good."

     He nodded and tried not to let his disappointment show. Maybe his hand would get better on its own with a bit of rest.

     "I do know someone who might be able to help."

     "And that would be?"

     "Dorian."

     "He'd try," Daylen acknowledged. "I'll think about it. Thank you."

     Dorian would try. He'd stay up until all hours researching and fretting about his hand. It would completely spoil whatever time they had left together before he went back to Tevinter. Or worse, he might refuse to go, not because he wanted to stay, but out of a sense of obligation. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he placed that on him. Especially not now, when the pain was barely noticeable. No. He wouldn't be telling Dorian about this, not yet.

  
***

     This party was nothing like the spontaneous celebration in light of their return to Skyhold. Hidden away bottles had made an appearance. Anyone with an instrument played, and everyone regardless of skill had joined in boisterous singing. The celebration dragged on into the next morning and he'd never been more grateful that he'd agreed to move in with Daylen. High up in that tower the celebration could only be heard as a murmur the lulled them both to sleep. By comparison this gathering was muted or maybe comfortable. Just a handful of friends enjoying each other's company before they went their separate ways. He couldn't help but feel melancholy. He'd miss all of them. He doubted they'd have many chances to spend time together like this again.

     "You!" A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Harrit steadied himself on his shoulder and waved his other hand for balance spilling a generous amount of his ale in the process. "You helped."

     "Me?" Surely he was being mistaken for someone else. It seemed only yesterday that they'd been glaring at each other in the courtyard. 

     "I suppose you can't all be evil bastards."

     "What an astute observation. I'm touched to my core."

     Harrit grumbled something unintelligible and walked away toward the food. Josephine really hadn't spared any expense. Giant pyramids of cheese wheels towered over platters of fresh fruit and there was enough fresh bread and butter to outlast a siege. A border of tiny cakes covered in a chocolate glaze shinier than the buckles of his favorite boots surrounded the feast. She'd even found some of that horrid, expensive smoked ham that always tasted of despair. 

     "Magey pants!" Sera waved him over with one hand and elbowed Bull with the other, making room for him on the bench. "Where were you?"

     "Meeting my adoring fans."

     She blew a raspberry in response.

     "Would you believe, I was passing through the hall this morning, and a serving girl saw me and squealed. Actually squealed. Dropped her laundry and everything. Such a mess. She was completely breathless. 'You were at the battle with the Evil One, weren't you?' I didn't even get a chance to answer. She hugged me. _Hugged_ me. It's all his fault you know. He did this to me." 

     "When's the wedding?" She fumbled for her mug with clumsy fingers.

     "Wed- The- What?" 

     "Why not?"

     He picked up the mug she'd been reaching for and sipped from it. Whatever was in it burned his throat so that he burst into a fit of uncontrollable coughing buying him the time to come up with a way to explain the absurdity of the question to her.  _Maker. A wedding. To a man. Father would shit his small_ _clothes._ "I'm going back to Tevinter."

     Sera stared. "Shite, what for?"

     "To make it better." 

     "When?"

      _When indeed._ He should go right away, before he lost the will to do so. But the weather had just turned warm and everyone kept telling him that the Southern summer was not be missed. He'd started believing they had a point. "I'm not sure."

     She squinted at him as if she thought he might be lying or maybe she'd just enjoyed too much of Bull's liquor. "You know what you should do?"

     "What?"

     She threw and arm around him pulling him so close that their heads knocked together. "Jenny."

     "Sera. We've been over this before. My name is Dorian."

     She knocked her head into his his again, this time on purpose. "A _Red_ Jenny. One of us. You and me. Stealing knickers from stuffy nobles. Right here."

     "I _am_ a stuffy noble."

     "You're _my_ stuff noble."

     He considered it. Maker, he actually considered it.

     "Them Magisters will still be there next year, yea?"

     "And long after that I'm afraid."

     "Ha! There's you go then. I'm right."

      He knew that he should have some argument ready to explain why he couldn't possibly stay any longer. He looked into those bright, eager eyes. Well, he'd always looked rather dashing in red. "Oh very well. I suppose you may have a point. A year or two wouldn't make much difference when it comes to their thick skulls." 

     Sera threw her arms around him and hugged him with so much force that for the first time he considered it might not be absurd to bet on her in an arm wrestling contest with Bull. She released him and jabbed Bull with her elbow. "Hey! Bull. Tell me that story again. The one with the ribbon.

     Dorian looked around the room searching for Daylen. It wasn't until he couldn't find him that he realized that they'd been checking in with each other the whole night. Taking a couple of seconds to make eye contact as they talked with one of their friends, just for the reassuring comfort of each other's presence. He did another sweep of the room and spotted him by the doors to their room. He glanced over at Sera who was by now absorbed in correcting Bull's retelling of one of the Charger's first jobs and concluded she wouldn't mind. He stood up and followed him.

     "Going somewhere, Amatus?"

     Daylen turned around, visibly startled.

     "You didn't think our brief chat would be enough, did you?" It was a joke, and it wasn't. Right now, a lifetime did not seem nearly enough for them to share together.

     "Define enough," Daylen teased.

     "Insolence." He placed his hands on Daylen's shoulders and pushed him back against the door. Daylen stumbled back in surprise. His back hit the door with a loud thud that brought many eyes in the room on them. He found he didn't mind. "I like it."

     Daylen raised his hands in surrender and allowed himself to be pushed through the doors and up the staircase, all the way to the center of the room.

     "See? Much better." Dorian looked up.  _Kaffas._ Daylen's eyes were so soft and Dorian just knew that he was about to say something and then I'd be his turn to say the same. It had been so long since he'd dared to even think the words that he wasn't sure his lips still knew how to form them.

    _I love you. Just say it. I. Love. You._

     "Yes. Yes. I'm sure you have all the things to say." It burst out of him before he could stop himself. It should've ruined the moment, but Daylen smiled and waited for him to continue."Two things before you run off." As if either of them had pressing plans to be anywhere else at the moment "You're terribly boring and I hate you."

     Daylen turned away and walked out onto the balcony as Dorian had done his very first time in this room. He followed, as if pulled along by an invisible string and draped himself over Daylen's broad shoulders. He'd spent so many years dreaming of some faceless man who might make a flowery declaration of his love. And yet-

     "And the second?" Daylen prompted capturing his hands.

     "I hope this ends soon."

     "Me too."

     And yet, Maker strike him down if the exact opposite didn't make him feel so loved that he wasn't sure his body could contain the warmth that flooded him.

 ***

     Daylen rolled over onto his stomach and traced the path of singes across the sheets in a lazy game of connect the dots. Not a drop of lyrium needed. He tried not to feel smug. He failed.

     Next to him Dorian had thrown an arm over his eyes. "Stop  _that_. I can see you grinning like an idiot with my eyes closed."

     "Hmm and what's that you're doing pray tell? A complex Tevinter facial muscle exercise?"

     That earned him a gentle kick. "Ass."

     "You know what this means, don't you?"

     "We'll have to get new sheets?"

     "No." He laughed. "Corypheus is gone. We're alive. The final challenge awaits."

     "Meaning?

     "It's time you met the family."

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all the kudos, comments, and patience waiting for an update dearies!


	42. In Which Dorian Meets the Family

     The trip to the Trevelyan's summer estate had taken them from tiny village to tinier village. It was just the two of them now. There were no Inquisition flags, no scouts, and no guards. Leliana and Cullen had spent days trying to convince Daylen to bring at least one or two with him, but in the end they'd lost that battle. In some ways, it felt similar to the traveling they'd done during the early days of the Inquisition when hardly anyone had recognized them as the slightest bit important. Mercifully, on this trip they stayed at inns rather than in damp tents and they didn't have to battle red lyrium addled templars.

     On occasion they still stopped to help some woman gather stalks of blood lotus by the river side or shepherded a lost goat home. Few people out here recognized Daylen as the Inquisitor they'd heard about in tales. Daylen seemed to enjoy the anonymity of it and Dorian didn't think he'd ever seen him so relaxed. It was a marvel to discover that the dark circles under Daylen's eyes weren't a permanent part of his appearance.

     Dorian on the other hand, couldn't help but feel more anxious with every passing day. At the start of the trip the flutter in his stomach could have been reasonably attributed to anticipation. Over the next couple of days it transformed into a gnawing at his gut. By the time they approached the rough wooden fence that marked the border of the Trevelyan's estate, it had reached out to claw at his throat.

_Dorian Pavus. You traveled to a future that never came to pass. You walked the Fade physically. You fought and won in a war against an ancient Magister and his dragon. You can do this. It is simply meeting people. You’ve met people before. Yes, a decent number of them spat at you, but still some of them didn’t. Just be polite and don’t set anything on fire._

     Daylen turned to give him a reassuring smile. "Everyone's excited to finally meet you. Don't worry. They'll love you."

     Sometimes he suspected that he'd taken a few lesson in mind reading from Cole. "And why shouldn't they? I'm marvelous."

     "You are." Daylen agreed. "Just be yourself and everything will be fine."

     He wanted to point out that when it came to him and family the description that came to mind was anything but fine, but Daylen had been looking forward the visit for a long time so he kept silent about all the ways in which everything could go terribly wrong.

     Instead he let his eyes stray around the estate. _Dear Maker. There is a cow on their lawn. An actual cow at a summer estate._ It watched them approach with the confident disinterest of a well cared for animal. It took him a few moments to understand that the cottage they were approaching _was_ the estate. Did Daylen’s entire family really summer in a place so small? A house twice the size hadn’t been nearly large enough to contain his much smaller family of three when he'd been growing up. Sweat beaded at his lower back at the prospect of spending weeks here. He’d thought that an estate would have plenty of space for hiding should things go sour. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

     A figure stepped out from the front door. He could see it freeze for a moment before it charged at them with the speed of a frenzied wyvern. Dorian had seen his fair share of chaos during the war, but nothing prepared him for what ensued. Daylen leapt off his horse, abandoning it to run toward the house. Dorian scrambled to take its reigns and when he looked up, what couldn't have been more than a few seconds later, Daylen had been swallowed by a swarm of bodies. He approached carefully.

     "You're here!"

     "Dayl-"

     "You look-"

     "You're in the-"

     "You've been go-"

     "It's so good to see-"

     Dorian dismounted and stood off to the side wishing that he'd taken his time. This was clearly a private moment. All of a sudden he couldn't remember why he'd ever thought this might be a good idea. Daylen hadn't seen his family since before the Conclave. Surely they'd want to hear all about his world saving with him standing around awkwardly in the background.

     "Let me go a moment!" Daylen emerged with a grin so wide that it looked painful. "Everyone _this_ is Dorian."

     And _everyone_ turned to look at him. He felt much as he had when he'd been unprepared for a lecture as a young man only to have an Enchanter call him up in front of the entire class.

     "It's nice to- Pleased to meet you- All of you," he stuttered out. _Kaffas. Off to a great start._

     "Let me do the introductions," Daylen said undeterred as he pointed to everyone gathered in turn. "My mother and father. Beardy here's my brother, Gregory. And that's the famous Elaina."

     "We've heard a lot about you." Lord Trevelyan stepped forward and to his astonishment pulled him into a hug.

     Dorian stood with his arms awkwardly at his sides, unsure how to respond, then settled for a tentative pat on the back in return.

     "Father, you'll crush him before we've met him!" Gregory said with a laugh that uncannily resembled Daylen's. Lord Trevelyan released him with a sheepish smile.

     "And before we've heard any of the dirty details we've been waiting for!"

     "Elaina!" Lady Trevelyan scolded. "Where are your manners?"

     "Mother, he's been living with Daylen for _months._ I'm sure he's heard far worse."

     Daylen rolled his eyes and shoved Elaina gently. "I haven't been home a minute and you're already trying to get me in trouble. Can we go inside please?"

     "Of course, dear. Fredrick, get the horses would you?" Before Dorian could protest Lord Trevelyan had taken the reigns from him and Lady Trevelyan swept an arm around him and ushered him toward the house.

     "I've made up the attic for the two of you," Lady Trevelyan continued. "I thought you might enjoy having a bit of privacy what with all the guests. I'm afraid it gets a bit stuffy, but there's a lovely view of the apple orchard. You must be hungry, Gale's been in the kitchens all morning. I'll show you the way to-"

     "Mother," Daylen put a hand on her shoulder. "Stop fussing. I'll give him a tour in a minute."

     Lady Trevelyan's eyes glistened for a moment. "Of course, dear. Join us in the parlour when you've had a moment to freshen up." She made it half way down the hallway before turning back to look at them again as if to make sure they hadn't disappeared.

     Daylen waited for her to round the corner then made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a fond sigh. "Come on. I'll show you around. We'll start upstairs."

     They made their way down the hallway with a notable lack of the types of things Dorian expected out of an estate. There weren't any statues, portraits of honored relatives, or paintings by artists of note. A worn green rug lined the way to a staircase that creaked and groaned with every step. From there they made their way to the end of a hallway of modest bedrooms. Daylen pulled down on a bit of rope hanging from the ceiling revealing a small set of folding steps.

     Daylen led the way up and then stood in the center of the room, which judging by the way his hair brushed the ceiling, was the only place he could stand without ducking his head.

     "Home, sweet home. Maker, the fights the three of us had over who'd get this room when we were younger."

     Dorian tried to imagine what it must have been like to grow up in a household with siblings and loving aunts and uncles. It seemed overwhelming, but wonderful. Certainly less lonely than his own childhood. He tried to imagine Daylen running up and down the staircase with scabbed knees. "I would've liked to have known you then."

     "Oh yes, I was such a charmer. Winning my battles with the power of my pouting." Daylen chuckled. "Trust me. Some things are best left to the imagination."

     "Hey! Can I come up or are you showing Dorian your tooth collection?" Elaina shouted from downstairs.

     Daylen groaned. "Case in point."

     Elaina's grinning head popped up from the bottom of the floor. "He used to sneak _all_ the boys up here."

     "And you'd interrupt every, single, time. Like you are now." The annoyance in Daylen's voice didn't match his warm smile.

     "I wasn't interrupting. I was _warning_ you. Just like now. If the two of you don't get into the parlour soon Mother's going to bring the whole tea party up here. She's furious with you, you know."

     "With me?" Daylen protested. "What have I done?"

     "Didn't write for months. Blew up the Conclave? Need I go on?"

     "I did not blow up the Conclave!"

     "You delayed Gregory's wedding."

     Daylen sighed. "Fine. I see your point. Let's get down there."

     Dorian followed them back down both sets of staircases, to the parlor and tried not to feel anxious at the mention of a parent frustrated by wedding delays. From everything Daylen had told him Gregory and Camille were smitten with each other and both of them were eager to be married. This was nothing like the wedding he'd almost been forced into.

     "Where is Camille anyway? I haven't seen so much as a drawing of her." Dayen asked.

     "She's not arriving until later this week. You'll like her. She's good for him. Gets him out of his shell."

     Elaina led them into a spacious parlour. Everyone else had already sprawled out on various bits of furniture with the exception of Lady Trevelyan who was fussing with a vase of flowers. She brightened when they stepped inside. "Come have some food."

***

     Sitting in the parlour turned out more pleasant and far less awkward than Dorian had anticipated. It seemed that he had learned something from years of attending various functions. He didn't drop his crumbs everywhere and somehow managed to continue eating all the food put on his plate despite his protests that he couldn't have one more bite. And as it turned out everyone wanted to hear all about the battle against Corypheus, a topic he was more than fluent in. He let Daylen take the lead and jumped in with a detail of his own on occasion or answered a question from someone. For the most part everyone seemed content to ask Daylen about the most mundane details of the past year.

     He didn't notice that Elaina had left the room until he'd gotten up to put his plate on the table in the hallway that they were using to store all of the abandoned dishes.

     "I hope you know that they'll be at it for hours." She peered at him over a steaming teacup.

     "And who could blame them? It's a great story. Although it lacks the tragic ending that would make it a true classic."

     "Don't be such a pessimist. Mother has yet to show you her templar emblem collection. There's still time."

     Dorian smiled uncertainly. For so long the obstacle in his life had been the prospect of openly being in a relationship with a _man_ that he'd completely forgotten the greater obstacle here might not be his gender, but his ability to summon flames at will.

     Elaina took another sip of tea then waved him over. "Come on. You haven't seen our library yet. We've got a lovely chess set. Don't worry, I'll take it easy on you."

     "Actually, Daylen and I used to play."

     She laughed. "Then I'll take it twice as easy on you. He's terrible."

     "True." He smiled at the memory of all the games he'd won, completely unaware that the Herald of Andraste wasn't intent on improving his skills at chess, but simply seeking out excuses to spend time with him.

     As Elaina set up the board he walked around the room to look at the titles. A personal library said a lot about its owner. Or in this case its owners. There didn't seem to be much order to the way the books were arranged. Children's stories mingled with cookbooks and dusty school books sat next to a collection on Antivan history that had fascinated him when he was younger. Only one shelf was meticulously organized. He'd never read any of these, but he recognized the flaming sword on them.

     "Mother wanted to be a templar when she was younger."

     "Oh." He didn't know what else to say. He'd never asked Daylen about why he'd joined the templars in the first place or if his family might object to his decision to abandon his training. Did they even know about that decision? He took a seat across from Elaina. It really was a beautiful chessboard although a few of the pieces showed signs of use.

     Elaina moved her pawn forward. "I'll tell you what. If you win, then I promise to rescue you from one tale about the glory of the templars."

     "And if I lose?"

     "You give up the attic of course."

     They played in a comfortable silence. To his delight Elaina proved a formidable opponent. He'd enjoyed playing with Cullen, but he was an inconsistent opponent depending on his distraction with real battles and the lyrium withdrawal that continued to plague him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time Daylen found them.

     "I should've know." He chuckled and took a seat on the armrest of Dorian's chair to study the board. "Let me guess, you've been telling him horribly embarrassing stories about me."

     "Don't be ridiculous. I'm trying to win the attic from him."

     Daylen groaned. "You're gambling?"

     "It's a time honored tradition." Elaina took her turn.

     "He's a guest! You can't make him give up his bed!" Daylen protested.

     "Shush, Amatus." Dorian grinned studying the board. He moved his piece forward. "Checkmate."

     "Ha!" Daylen leapt off the chair and broke into what could only be described as a childish victory dance. "This is officially the best day of my life. I can die in peace now. I have lived to see you lose."

     Elaina scowled. "You distracted me!"

     Daylen chortled. "Admit it! He's a better chess player than you."

     Dorian stood up to point out that Elaina had been by far the toughest opponent he'd faced in years, but was interrupted from saying so by Daylen who took the opportunity to pull him into a kiss.

     "Ugh. The two of you." Elaina shook her head.

     "So, what did we win?" Daylen asked.

     Dorian let Daylen hold onto him, trying not to show how horribly awkward he felt being on the receiving end of such a sudden outburst of affection. It had taken him some time to get used to it when they were among friends, but here around Daylen's family he somehow felt as if he'd have to start all over again.

     "A rescue for Dorian from a tale of templar glories," Elaina said. "And speaking of templars. When are you telling them that you're not taking your vows?"

     "Later? Never? Do I even have tell them? Mother will have a fit when she finds out."

     "I know," Elaina grinned. "I can't wait. It's your turn to be the family disappointment."

     "Oh the horror," Daylen said, quite cheerfully. "Now, come on. Mother is threatening to break out _the good dishes_ for dinner and I believe you owe us a rescue."

***

     It wasn't until two days later that Dorian forgot the rules he'd set for himself before arriving. He was in the kitchen trying his best to help Gale with chopping an enormous pile of carrots when Elaina walked in.

     "Maker's hairy nutsack. I swear if this fire goes out one more time!"

     "Elaina! How many times do I have to tell-" Lady Trevelyan started for at least the hundredth time since they'd arrived.

     Dorian didn't even think about it. He simply flicked his hand toward the fireplace like he'd done countless times. Bright flames crackled over the logs. Elaina jumped back from the fireplace and Lady Trevelyan's lecture transformed into a shriek.

_Maker, you said you wouldn't set anyone on fire!_

     The knife slipped out of his grip and he rushed toward Elaina scrambling to remember to best way to heal burns.

     Gale reached her first. "Are you alright?"

     "I'm fine." Elaina straightened and then laughed weakly. "That startled me. That's all."

     Lady Trevelyan didn't seem satisfied with the explanation. "Come out into the dinning room. Let me see you in the light there."

     "Sorry. I forgot-"

     "Don't worry about it," Gale cut in, looking pale himself. "I'd better check on them."

     Unsure what to do with himself he picked up the knife he'd dropped and wiped it clean with a rag before turning back to the carrots. He hadn't come close to burning her. He knew that. Still it felt as if he had. He was convinced that Daylen would know the right thing to do, but he'd gone with Gregory to see a new fence (or was it a new shed?) at the other end of the property and wouldn't be back for Maker knew how long. He finished chopping the carrots then stepped out into the now empty dinning room. He wasn't sure if that relieved him or made him concerned. So he made his way up the staircase and to the attic.

     Dorian sat down on the bed a squinted out the tiny window right above it. Lady Trevelyan had been right. There was a lovely view of the apple orchard. He put his face against the cool pane of glass and closed his eyes. He couldn't help but wonder what his parents were doing at the moment. He still missed them and that was the worst part. Even after everything that had happened he couldn't help the part of him that wished he could go home and watch the sunset on the patio at home. He could see it now. His mother sipping a glass of wine as father asked her opinion on some bit of political maneuvering at the Magisterium. And he'd be practicing a spell without the slightest concern that it might unnerve or anger anyone. With a pang of pain he realized that he'd never be able to bring Daylen home and introduce him to his family or share with him the rituals of his own childhood. It was an idea so far fetched that it was absurd to even consider being upset about it. And yet he was.

     "Hey." Dorian opened his eyes to find Daylen at the top of the ladder. "Are you alright?"

     "Oh simply marvelous. I almost set your sister on fire and scared your mother half to death. All in one go."

     Daylen walked over and sat on the bed next to him. "Ah she probably deserved it. Tell me you at least got her eyebrows."

     " _Amatus_." It came out more pained than he'd intended.

     "Oh. Sorry. I thought that was a joke."

     "It's not."

     "But everyone's fine. They're all downstairs, setting the table. They said I should check on you and that dinner will be in an hour. So are you? Alright?"

     Dorian sighed. "I'm fine. I wish I hadn't scared everyone is all. Please, go and spend time with your family. I'll be down in a few moments."

     Daylen stood up from the bed and for a moment Dorian thought that he'd actually listen to him and leave him alone with his thoughts. But instead of that Daylen went over to his pack and pulled out something small, wrapped up in brown paper. "I have something for you."

     It wasn't a holiday. "What's the occasion?"

     "No occasion." Daylen placed the package in his hands. "Open it."

     Dorian unwrapped the package carefully. It was a wooden duck. The exact kind he'd once had as a child, although it didn't have the wheels. "How did you-"

     "Cole, he gave it to me. He said I'd know the right time to give it to you."

     Dorian traced the brightly painted beak. "I used to have one almost exactly like this one when I was a child. Except it had little wheels. Maker, I brought it along with me everywhere. Wouldn't let it out of my sight. It just disappeared one day. Never found so much as a clue of where it went."

     "You must have been adorable."

     Dorian grimaced. "I was a brat."

     "I'm sorry."

     "Because I was a brat?"

     "All of this..." Daylen waved his hand vaguely. "And my family. It's a lot, isn't it?"

     He knew it'd be a lost cause to pretend otherwise. Even his best mask wasn't elaborate enough for this conversation. Still he was glad that he'd come. It was good to see Daylen so happy and content, surrounded by people who loved him. "I'll be fine."

     "You don't have to be. We can leave if you want."

     "Absolutely not! I'll just be more careful. No more magic."

     Daylen took his hands. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a mage. Magic is as much a part of you as your terrible blanket hogging. You can't just stop. You shouldn't have to."

     "I do not hog the blankets," he protested with far too much vigor. "You snore!"

     "I do not." Daylen said with a laugh that betrayed him. "Look, my point is, they're just not used to magic. I've forgotten what it's like to see if for the first time. It's different with the Anchor. Magic feels sort of right, you know? Before that, I might have reacted the same. They'll adjust."

     "And if they don't?"

     "They will. Besides, without the Circles everyone's going to have to adjust to seeing a lot more magic."

     Dorian felt a twinge of jealousy at the easy confidence with which Daylen answered the question. As if there wasn't even a shadow of a doubt in his mind that in the end everything would turn out alright. Still, he'd been right about so many things before. Maybe he'd be right about this too.

***

     Dorian watched as Gregory spun Camille in a circle so that her skirts swirled around her and far too close to the fire for his comfort. No one else seemed to notice. Elaina and Lord Trevelyan were too busy trying increasingly silly and decreasingly harmonious variations on dance tunes. Lady Trevelyan had gone to bed hours ago. Gale had disappeared into the kitchen as usual. And Daylen was dozing on the sofa despite the noise.

     Earlier they'd all managed to convince him to join into a serious of ridiculous childhood games. Half of which seemed to end in cheerful bickering about who'd won at the game the last time they'd all played except no one could even agree on when that had been.

     Gale stepped back into the room. "Dorian, can you help me for a minute?"

 _Help?_ He found it hard to imagine that Gale might ever need help in the kitchen. No less from him, but he nodded and followed him anyway.

     "I made something. To celebrate. I followed the recipe, but I'm afraid the last step is beyond me." Gale waved him over to the counter and pointed to the small cake on the counter. "A fire that doesn't burn?"

     Dorian stared at it. A simple Tevinter log cake. He hadn't seen one since, well, he couldn't remember how long it had been. It wasn't a special dessert. It was the sort of thing you'd set out with a pot of coffee when surprise guests showed up and nothing fancier could be found. Certainly it wasn't something that would ever be used to celebrate an upcoming wedding.

     "Think you can help?" Gale prompted.

     "Of course."

     "Good." Gale carried the cake back out into the room and cleared his throat.

     The room fell silent quicker than Dorian would have expected. Daylen startled awake and looked around bleary eyed.

     "For the happy couple." And Dorian could swear that he winked at him right before looking towards Camille and Gregory.

     Dorian raised his hands, more as a warning than from a real need, and summoned the tiny wisps of colorful flames just above the surface of the cake. It was a simple spell. Something most students could manage after their first year at the Circle, but the Trevelyan's watched him wide eyed and suddenly he remembered how delighted he'd been the first time he'd seen his father toss the colored flames over the cake like a handful of candied fruit. He flicked his hand gently and the flames scattered over its surface. They flickered over the cake, without burning it.

     "You know I thought I'd seen some fancy baking, but this-" Lord Trevelyan shook his head.     

     "It's lovely." Camille cut in. "Thank you."

     "They burn until the cake is cut," Dorian said.

     Daylen sighed exaggeratedly. "Don't tell them that. Now we'll never get to eat."

      But despite the dire warning, they did eventually eat. The texture wasn't exactly right, but it was by far the closest thing to Tevinter cuisine he'd had in ages beyond the occasional bottle of wine. He savored the almost spicy intensity of flavor. Judging by the small portions taken by everyone else he doubted anyone else appreciated it quite as much as he did. 

     "Come on," Daylen whispered as soon as Dorian took his last bite. "Let's get out of here before they start asking for magic tricks."

     They snuck up the staircase and for a moment Dorian felt as if he was sixteen, all over again, giddy with the thrill of sneaking away from some party. They stumbled up the staircase by the light of the wisp he'd summoned, down the hallway, and up the attic staircase. Daylen flopped onto the bed. Dorian collapsed next to him and chuckled when Daylen wrapped both an arm and leg around him, even though the breeze from the open window did nothing to dispel the stifling heat in the attic.

     "I've been thinking."

     "I'm positively awed. I thought they called that napping. When were you going to tell me about this, Amatus?"

     Daylen swatted his chest gently. "I've been thinking... Maybe you should go to Tevinter."

     His mind went blank with surprise. After the argument they'd had about it, here was Daylen suddenly suggesting that he should leave. After he'd decided he would stay, at least for a while longer. Why now and what was he supposed to say to that?

     "Are you asleep?"

     "No. I'm just-" He pulled out of Daylen's embrace so that he could face him. "Why?"

     Daylen reached out to trail a thumb over his cheek. "You miss it. And..."

     "And?"

     "I think you miss your family too."

     "After everything they've done?" His tone was outraged, but he was outraged with himself not Daylen, because it was true. Even after the endless misery his family had caused him. Daylen didn't protest and simply continued running his thumb over his face as if he were memorizing its shape for a sculpture he intended to carve. Dorian closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. "Maybe. Sometimes."

     Daylen's hand wandered up into his hair where it soothed over his scalp. "If you want to go back, then I think you should. We'll figure it out."

     "It wouldn't be fair."

     "Nonsense," Daylen admonished gently.

     "I'll think about it."

     And he would. Somewhere past the apple orchard, he knew the bells of Minrathous square rang to announce the end of another warm summer day. Somewhere over there, his father walked home from a day at the Magisterium and his mother opened a bottle of this year's wine. Somewhere over there, Tevinter called for him to return. But here, in this moment, with the aftertaste of Tevinter spices and the sticky warmth of Daylen's arms around him, he was home at last.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after much delay, we arrive at the end. Thank you all so much for the kudos, comments, and patience. I hope you've had as much fun reading as I've had writing. 
> 
> For anyone who cares to take a leap into Dorian's past, I introduce The Serpent's Chant and to anyone that's jumping off the story train here, I bid you a fond farewell. :)


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